


Chain of Command

by White_Eyebrow



Series: G.I. Joe Season 3, Sunbowverse. [6]
Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon), Jem and the Holograms (Cartoon)
Genre: ARAH, Crossover, F/M, Sunbow, jem and the holograms - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-03
Updated: 2008-05-03
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Eyebrow/pseuds/White_Eyebrow
Summary: Beach Head leads a team of Joes to recover the lost secrets of a classified technology—unless Zartan finds it first. A Joe/Jem crossover.Season 3, Episode 3.0





	1. Hacker or Cracker?

GI JOE Season 3: episode 3

"Chain of Command"

**Federal Prison Camp - Herlong, California**

The rusty door creaked open, allowing Beach Head and Mainframe entry into the central facility. They entered, and the door closed behind them. The keys from the doorman could be heard jingling from the other side to engage the lock, and the resulting click of the deadbolt echoed in the enclosed hallway. The two soldiers walked side by side in silence toward the guard station at the far end. The sunlight shone through the western side of the corridor. Desert sand frosted the windows, exacerbating the glare from the sunlight and obscuring the view to the world outside. The steel fibers within the shatterproof glass broke up the sun's rays, splashing the floor with polygons of light. The fans that spun overhead only served to circulate the hot air.

Beach Head took short abbreviated breaths as he loosened his collar. The stench from the stale air was so thick he could taste it. Midway, they reached the shadow cast by the northern tower. Shielded from the glare of the late afternoon sun, Beach Head glanced over at his computer operations specialist and saw that he was smiling. "What's with that stupid grin on your face, Mainframe?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing… I just got a kick out of watching that warden snap-to when he got off the phone with the Attorney General."

"Why?"

Mainframe shrugged. "I don't know, Beach; I suppose it's for want of giving the Establishment _the finger_. Don't you get a thrill out of throwing your weight around as a Joe to cut through the bureaucracy?"

"No, I don't," Beach Head scolded. "Spec-Ops units such as ours go around normal channels out of a necessity to maintain secrecy. It's a responsibility not to be taken lightly."

"Lighten up, Beach; it's human nature. Ever since we partook of the proverbial forbidden fruit, Man has been compelled to test his boundaries—to push the envelope. It's been the basis for human exploration, inspiration and creativity."

"It's also been the basis for exploitation, despotism and war. And it all starts with one yahoo thinking that the rules don't apply to them."

"I bet you're a blast at parties," Mainframe said with a frown. "Not everything has to be a slippery-slope." A smile revisited his face. "You know, Beach, I think I'm going to make it my personal mission to get you to loosen up once in a while."

"Now you're starting to sound like Stalker."

"Maybe I'll enlist his help, then."

Beach Head rolled his eyes. "Since we're on the subject of stupid ideas, how on earth did you to talk Flint into sending us to this prison like a couple of errand boys?"

"I'm just as surprised as you, to be honest. I just threw it out as a suggestion. I didn't expect Flint to go along with it. He said that my idea was, _thinking outside of the box_."

"It's times like this that I miss Duke. He would never go for this pop psychology hogwash." Beach Head paused, and he sneezed. "What can you tell me about this guy we're meeting?"

"As far as underground computer crackers go, this guy is as hard-core as they come."

"You think he's up to the job?"

"He's the best I've ever seen."

"I thought _you_ were supposed to be the best?"

"I'm not a cracker." Mainframe scowled at Beach Head's ignorance of the distinction.

 _"ACHOO!"_ Beach Head stopped to blow his nose. "Why hasn't someone in Shadow Ops snatched this joker up? He's seems the type that's right up their alley."

"No, this guy is a lone wolf. He's very distrustful of authority. He claims that the government killed his father."

"Great..." The sneezing had gotten worse. Beach Head retrieved the balaclava in his pocket, and he clasped it over his head. He made sure the ski mask fit snugly over his nose and mouth."

Mainframe grimaced. "Everything alright?"

"I think they use ammonia to clean the floors here. It's irritating my sinuses." Beach Head brushed passed him.

By the time they made it to the guard station, Beach Head's coughing had subsided. He temporarily pulled down his mask while he presented his credentials. The lead guard greeted them at the gate and examined their ID's.

The guard cautiously glanced back and forth between the visitors and their photos before finally saying, "The front desk told us to be expecting you." Satisfied, he handed them back their ID cards. "The word on the grapevine is that you boys are Joes?"

"That's right," Mainframe answered.

"I did a tour back in '68 with the 101st airborne."

"A fellow _Chicken Man?_ " Mainframe said, shaking the guard's hand. "It's a small world."

"I wonder what kind of strings you guys had to pull in order to talk to this guy outside of visiting hours?"

"The kind of strings that require discretion," Beach Head said with a dismissive tone.

The guard grinned in response. "Hooah."

The soldiers were escorted through the dim, musty cell block. Either side of the corridor was packed with jail cells. Faint glimmers of reflected light sparkled in the distance from the mirrors that the convicts used to peek around their bars.

Beach Head struggled for a way to keep his mind off the irritation in his sinuses."I wouldn't think you were Airborne with that big jarhead logo stamped on your helmet..."

"I started out as Army Airborne before I went to MIT on the GI Bill."

"Yeah, I remember your file said you made a decent chunk of change in the private sector... why'd you go back to the military?"

Mainframe smirked. "War kills you more humanely than a nagging wife."

Beach Head's snort came out as a cough. "Why the Marines? The Army not good enough for you?"

"They didn't like the fact that I lied about my age when I first joined... The Marines didn't care. Still, Airborne's in my blood."

They came upon a secured steel door.

"We're almost there," the guard said, unlocking the junction box. "Solitary is in the next cell block."

" _Solitary?"_ Beach Head questioned. "He's that bad, huh?"

"No. He just tends to freak out the other prisoners. I think he prefers it. All he does is stare at his wall all day."

They came upon a narrow chamber lined by a single row of cells, only one of which was occupied. The iron gate slid open; Beach Head and Mainframe peered inside. The gaunt prisoner with jet-black hair was seated on a bunk, staring at mathematical equations written on the opposite wall. Strips of toilet paper were arranged on the pillow with strange writings on them.

Beach Head grabbed Mainframe by the arm to stop him from going inside. "No, you wait right here. This won't take long."

"With all due respect, Beach, I have more of a rapport with this guy."

"I think I can handle a computer geek."

Beach Head stepped into the cell and, in drill-instructor fashion, addressed the prisoner as if he were a grunt fresh off the bus:

 _"Walter Hammler."_ The prisoner did not respond. "I am Master Sergeant Sneeden with G.I. Joe." He paused when he saw that the introduction did not elicit a response. "I am authorized to offer you a deal to reduce your sentence in exchange for your services."

The prisoner continued to mumble under his breathe, seemingly oblivious to the soldier's presence.

Beach Head reached out to grab his shoulder, "Hey, I'm talking at you!"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The prisoner jerked away from him violently. "I don't like being touched."

Beach Head stepped back and sighed in frustration. He looked to Mainframe, who was leaning against the bars with his arms crossed—sporting a lopsided grin on his face. Beach Head's eyes narrowed as he gave him the signal to take over.

Mainframe entered the cramped cell. Rather than engage the prisoner, he chose to examine the equations scribbled on the wall that garnered the prisoner's undivided attention. He noticed that in the center was written a group of numbers arranged in a matrix. He picked up the limestone rock that was used as makeshift chalk and wrote a single column of numbers next to the matrix.

"There you go, _Techrat_." Mainframe clapped the dust from his hands. "That should give you the eigenvalues you need."

Techrat nodded as he mulled over some calculations in his head. "Thanks. My linear algebra is rusty."

Mainframe turned his attention to the scraps of paper laid out on the mattress. "What is this, a reverse encryption algorithm?"

Techrat nodded again. "Very good, Mainframe... where's Sparks?"

"He couldn't make it." He replaced the scraps neatly atop the mattress, "You realize, of course, that this code's not going to do you much good without a computer."

"I have access to the one computer they could never take away from me," Techrat said as he tapped his temple with his index finger. "The art of hacking is about thinking, not typing on a keyboard."

"You have the nerve to call yourself a hacker? It doesn't take any exceptional intelligence to write a Trojan."

"Whatever you say, Mainframe." For the first time, Techrat acknowledged Mainframe with his eyes. "By the way, how long was I snooping around your network before you and Sparks caught me?"

"Not long enough to do any real damage. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Techrat snorted. "Oh, how I miss our banter. You and Sparks were the only ones who could keep up."

"If you miss it so much, why not take us up on our offer?"

"I'm not buying what you're selling."

"Techrat," he scoffed with false indignation, "I thought we were friends."

"You're still a pawn of the government."

"I don't think that's a fair characterization. You've been in the central mainframe; you've seen our mission statements. You must know what G.I. Joe is all about."

"And I'm still waiting to hear why this should interest me?"

"There is an unknown system penetrating the DoD's satellite network. We can't discern the nature of the attacks because we suspect that the cracker is tunneling in using _Quantum Encryption_."

Techrat narrowed his eyes. "Quantum Encryption is purely theoretical. The hardware necessary to put it into practical application doesn't even exist."

"C'mon. We both know better than that."

"Why didn't you draft Kaneda? He's the top underground theoretician in computer science."

"Perhaps, but there is another reason why we approached you that we can't elaborate on in here."

"Still, I can't imagine of what use I could be to you on the outside. Quantum Encryption cannot be cracked: It goes against the laws of physics."

Mainframe sighed as he leaned back against the wall. He gave Techrat that same lopsided grin, saying, "I suppose you're right; you should stay here, secure in the knowledge that it can't be done… _or_ , you could help pioneer a new era in cryptography—decades before it becomes mainstream science."

Techrat laughed. Such an obvious use of reverse psychology was an insult to his intelligence. He looked away as he diverted his attention once again to his equations.

Mainframe reached over and took the scraps from his hand. "Is writing pseudo-code on toilet paper the same as the feel of a keyboard under your hands? Is conceptualizing heuristics in a drafty cell the same as inserting your Trojan into a virgin network? To watch it work from the inside, in real-time, as it quietly forces her into unwilling submission; penetrating her defenses until she finally opens up for you."

Techrat clenched his jaw.

"You said hacking is about thinking? You're wrong: hacking is about power. A hacker without a computer is like a surgeon without a scalpel, a painter without a brush—"

"How long?" Techrat interjected impatiently.

Mainframe sat down next to him on the bunk. "If you do good by us, time served plus five years probation. In the meantime, you don't so much as look at a computer outside of this mission."

He scoffed at the terms, saying, "Are you insane?"

"Either that, or you spend the rest of your sentence in here."

"You must really be desperate, Mainframe."

"Not as desperate as you, I'm willing to wager." The soldier got up and left the cell. The bars closed behind him.

Techrat closed his eyes in surrender. "I'll do it."


	2. Starlight Faded

**Ruins of Starlight House**

Jerrica Benton waded through the tall grass until she found the remnants of the foundation. She closed her eyes as she stepped onto the scorched concrete. Although the structure had long since burned to the ground, in her mind's eye, she could see the mahogany doors opening to let her inside. She walked down the foyer to pass the kitchen where her mother had just baked her favorite cookies and left them to cool on the windowsill. She came to a stop in the living room. Everyone was congregated around the TV to watch their favorite prime time show. Her parents were still alive. She still had a crush on the boy next door. There was no _Jem and the Holograms_ , only her and her sisters.

_All's right with the world._

She opened her eyes and unclipped one of her ruby earrings. She placed the _Jem Star_ earring, jewel side up, in the center of the slab and then walked back into the grass where her sisters Kimber, Aja, and Shana waited.

Jerrica then tapped the twin earring on her other ear with her index finger and commanded, "Synergy, create a full scale hologram of Starlight House."

A flicker of light emanated from the center of the foundation. It was subtle at first, but with increasing intensity, it began to swirl outward like an illuminated tornado. Light danced around and filled every corner of the slab. It took different shapes and colors before finally coalescing into her childhood home.

Aja took off her sunglasses; her mouth was agape. "Wow. It's just like I remember."

"I can't believe were selling the land," said Kimber.

"All things come to an end," Kimber replied.

"Are you sure about this, Jerrica?" Shana asked.

"Yes," Jerrica answered. "There's nothing left of our childhood except memories."

"That's not true," said Aja.

Jerrica looked at her blue-haired sister with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean?"

Aja held her hand, reciting the pledge they had made as children so many years before, " _We solemnly promise to share everything we have._ "

Shana smiled in recognition and held Jerrica's other hand to continue, _"And to be good and true friends forever and ever._ "

Jerrica regarded both of them with a smile and finished by saying, " _And to let nothing interfere with our friendship._ "

"Even boys?" Kimber said with a smirk.

Jerrica arched her brow as she eyed the redhead. " _Especially_ boys."

A whistle was then heard by all. They turned to where Raya, the fifth Hologram, was waiting by the curb, seated in the _Rockin' Roadster_. Jerrica touched her earring again.

"Show's over, Synergy."

The image of Starlight House vanished. A few seconds later, a car turned the corner and passed them to continue on its way down the street. Jerrica retrieved her earring and returned to the car, hand in hand with her sisters—The Holograms.

Aja turned the keys in the ignition and revved the engine. "Why am I always the driver?"

"Age before beauty, Aja," Kimber said.

Before Aja could retort, Jerrica changed the subject, "Do we have a replacement for Thomas yet? We have an investor's meeting, and I want to be able to report that we're on track for our new album."

"No. But we're still looking," Kimber replied.

"We could always hire Rio," Shana offered.

Aja frowned. "That's not funny, Shana."

"Who's laughing? This is business. We don't have time to bring someone else up to speed."

Kimber cut in, saying, "Rio's not available."

"How do you know?"

"I've already asked him. He's booked with a gig at Stinger's Sound till the end of next month."

" _Stinger's Sound?"_ Raya interjected. "They're our biggest competitor. How can he do that to us?"

Jerrica could see that the discussion was moving in an uncomfortable direction. She decided to end it. "Rio is the most sought after sound engineer in the industry. You can't expect him to keep his schedule clear on our account."

"It's settled then; I'll pull double duty in the sound room," Aja declared.

Kimber grinned. "Good. Maybe now you can tweak the recordings to make your part come out in tune for a change."

"Hey, I only play the notes you put on the page, Red."

Kimber pouted as everyone laughed at Aja's rejoinder—everyone except Jerrica. Kimber noticed how she looked longingly out of the passenger window, as if she were miles away. She put a supportive hand on her sister's shoulder and said, "Don't worry Jerrica, we'll get this album out on time and on budget. We've been in worse scrapes."

Aja glared suspiciously at Jerrica through the rear view mirror. "It's not the record. She's thinking about _him_. You shouldn't've brought up Rio. Now she's gonna be brooding for the rest of the day."

Jerrica met her eyes in the mirror and replied, "Mr. Pachenco and I haven't spoken in over a year. We are ancient history."


	3. Mission: Making Mischief

**San Diego International Airport**

An elderly couple disembarked the off ramp of gate twelve. They made their way slowly down the hall, shuffling as they hunched over their canes. The bustling crowd had to make way and move around them—some more patiently than others. The old man checked the clock on the arrival board; they were early. He decided to sit down on the nearest bench and let the bulk of the crowd pass on. As he settled in his seat, he looked around, making a mental note of the location of all the security cameras in the lobby. The old woman eventually caught up and sat next to him.

She smacked her gums. "This is the last time I fly coach for you, brother. Why couldn't we've taken a company jet from New York?"

"My apologies, sister, but I don't want _the company_ privy to my movements. As a result, I'm funding this operation out of my own pocket."

After picking up their luggage, they both made their way to the customer loading ramp. A valet offered to help them to carry their baggage. The old man, balancing on his cane, smiled appreciatively and handed the suitcase over to the young man. The valet eagerly took the proffered case but stumbled when the weight of it brought it crashing to the ground. Using two hands, he picked it up and limped behind them, struggling to keep up.

The old woman cackled at the display. "When is our brother going to pick us up?"

"He isn't. Our ride is already here."

The old man led them to a limousine parked along the curb. There was a man in a driver's uniform holding up a sign that read "SMITH". The old man walked up to the driver and introduced himself:

"I'm Smith."

The driver regarded them briefly. "Did you track any blue grass on your shoes while in New York?"

The old man replied with the appropriate counter phrase, "The only Bluegrass I know is grown in Kentucky, young man."

Satisfied, the driver nodded and opened the door for them. "Welcome to California, Mr. Smith."

The elderly couple entered the vehicle. After the driver closed the door, they made themselves comfortable. The old woman poured herself a drink from the mini-bar, while the old man took off his gloves. Once the driver loaded their luggage and tipped the valet, they drove off.

The old woman casually took a sip of her drink. "Mind your hand, old man."

The old man looked down at his hand on the armrest. The sunlight shining through the window had turned the skin a dark shade of blue. Cursing, he moved his hand to the shadows and massaged the skin until it returned to its usual pink color.

"Who is _he_?" she whispered, nodding in the driver's direction.

"An acquaintance, from the old days, who owes me a favor."

When they left the main ramp, the old man pushed a button on the armrest. A privacy window rose from the front seat, separating the driver from the passengers. The old woman was about to speak when her brother raised a hand to stop her. She watched him take an electronic device out of his pocket and wave it about the cabin for several seconds. After several beeps, the display on the device turned green. It was then that he gave her the signal that it was safe to talk.

The old woman ripped off her mask and spat out her dentures to reveal the face of someone much younger. "Is all this subterfuge necessary, Zartan?"

"I'm afraid so, Zarana." Zartan removed his prosthetics, although he handled them more carefully than his sister. He put the remains in a special plastic container and poured acid inside before sealing it. He then reached into his briefcase and handed her a dossier. "It's time to brief you on the current situation."

She opened the envelope and removed the contents. The top page was a picture of an old man with grey hair, "Who is this bloke?"

"Harvey Gabor. He's a mega-industrialist with holdings and assets that rival that of the Twins."

"Nice. I take it that you want me to put the sweets on this wanker? How much do you want to bilk him for?"

"I'm not after mere money here with Gabor. And our objective is time-sensitive."

He referred her to the next sheet that had a three-dimensional graph that was plotted with a number system that she did not recognize. She held the page up to the light and turned it upside-down to see if it would make more sense with a different orientation.

"What is this?" She asked.

"It's a wave-form diagram of a harmonic cipher. A Cobra asset at the Pentagon came across this in a DIA memo sent to General Flagg. This plot showed up as a blip in one of NORAD's satellite streams. It was reported as being part of an old code that was grand-fathered into the system; as a result, it was written off as a system malfunction. Fortunately, I intercepted this before Major Bludd scrapped it. The fools didn't realize what they've stumbled upon."

"I must admit that I'm at a loss myself, brother dear"

"It's possible that this particular wave-form is associated with a _Quantum Encryption_ signature. The technology that relied on this particular cipher was part of a black-budget project that was abandoned in the seventies. Gabor Industries was the primary defense contractor on that project"

"The seventies? How could decades old technology benefit us?"

"Let's just say that if I'm right, it could change the face of modern warfare."

"That'll certainly give us leverage against Destro. We won't need him anymore."

"Sister, if this pans out, we won't need _Cobra_ anymore."

"So, why the rush if the Pentagon is sweeping this under the rug?"

"If I spotted this, chances are someone in SOCOM will have also. We'll have a much needed head start only if we can get to Gabor first."

Zarana finished skimming through the profile. "This Gabor fella looks like a powerful man. How are we gonna put the squeeze on him?"

"Through his daughter."

Zartan pulled out the last page and handed it to her. It was a picture of a woman in her mid-twenties with green eyes and hair dyed to match. Zarana studied the picture, and she snorted quietly when she recognized the subject. She began to see why her brother needed her on this mission.


	4. Who Did He Kiss?

**Starlight Music Headquarters**

Jerrica briskly stepped out of the elevator doors before they finished opening. She entered the antechamber to her office, located on the top floor of the Starlight Music building, and she was greeted by a frenzy of subordinates. She didn't break stride as she handed the quarterlies to her assistant in exchange for her dry cleaning. When she passed the secretary's desk, she picked up her mail and went inside her office.

She threw her dry cleaning across the leather chair and kicked her shoes off. After a quick shower in the executive bath, she put on her newly pressed suit and then thumbed through her mail. She stopped when she came across a letter written in crayon. A smile visited her face when she opened the card. She placed it next to a collage of other pictures on her desk. She made it a point to reserve desk space for her Starlight girls – orphans that she supported through Starlight Foundation. They were her daughters, and she loved all of them. Why else would she lead this double life of a successful CEO/house-marm by day, and an A-list rock star by night? Why else would she sacrifice her love life?

_Love life._

Aja's comment yesterday concerning Rio still bothered her. After all, he was nothing more than a protracted childhood crush. Breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to her. It freed her to better manage the Starlight Foundation. The only thing that mattered now was her family, and she was surrounded by love, and loved ones, on a daily basis.

So, why did she feel so lonely?

"I see you went with the red dress."

Jerrica snapped out of her reverie to see Aja standing at the entrance of her office. She went over to the mirror to primp her bangs and replied, "Red means power and confidence."

"It also means seduction." Aja approached and stood next to Jerrica in front of the mirror.

"I don't think the shareholders are interested in my sex appeal."

"I'm a shareholder, and I'd do you," she said, with a smirk.

Jerrica pursed her lips. "That's only because you're a slut."

"No I'm not; sluts give it away for free."

"What are you two standing around for?" Kimber said, barging into the office. "Everyone's waiting downstairs."

"Jerrica is trying to seduce the investors, Kimber."

Kimber walked over and bumped Jerrica aside to make room for herself in the mirror. "Oh? Nobody said anything about this being a fundraiser." She adjusted her necklace. "Don't let them low ball you, sis."

Jerrica sighed. " _Et tu_ , Kimber?"

In good spirits, the three of them left the office and went to the meeting hall on the third floor. By the time they got there, the room was already full. When Jerrica entered, a hush fell over the crowd in acknowledgment of the president and CEO of Starlight Music. She took the stage and adjusted her microphone at the podium before addressing the audience:

"Good evening and welcome to the twelfth annual Starlight Music shareholder's meeting!"

Jerrica smiled proudly; the hall was filled with applause. This rush she felt was akin to the accolades she received when she was on stage, performing in sold out concerts, as her alter ego, Jem. The din subsided, and she continued:

"My parents, Emmett and Jacqui Benton, founded this company with the intention of making the world a better place. Fearlessly, they steered you into the eighties to become the premier independent label in the country. As we enter a new decade, with their daughters at the helm, that mission statement remains unchanged."

She was met with another round of applause. As she looked out into the crowd, Jerrica noticed a man enter quietly from the back of the room. He looked tall and lean in his tuxedo and kept his back to her as he walked over to the bar. All she could make of him was his purple hair and his olive skin. Even as the applause subsided, her attention remained focused on the man in the back. A cough from Aja off stage brought her back in the moment. She recentered herself on the podium and resumed her speech.

"This marks an exciting time for the music industry in general and Starlight Music in particular. With the acquisition of KJEM and from scouting new talent, we will have expanded the scope of our label to not only pioneer a new era of Rock and Roll, but also to explore the frontiers of Jazz and Hip Hop…"

She didn't remember going through the rest of the presentation. She orated on autopilot, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the man in the back of the room with the purple hair. When she finished, she was numb to the standing ovation from the crowd and walked offstage. Kimber took over and directed everyone to the buffet line in the back.

She kept track of _Purple Hair_ out of the corner of her eye while she started to visit with the other shareholders. Splitting her concentration between small talk and keeping a lookout was daunting. Fortunately, Aja came to her rescue and graciously stole her away from the tortuous banter.

"Thanks, Aja."

"You're welcome. Good job, by the way. You were a little shaky at first, but you recovered nicely."

"I was distracted." Jerrica nodded in Purple Hair's direction, at which Aja turned to look. "For heaven's sake, don't stare."

Aja scowled. "What is Rio doing here?"

"This is a stockholder's meeting, and he _is_ a stockholder."

"So what? He's never come to these things in the past—much less to hobknob."

Her face became flushed. "Oh no, he's coming this way… don't look."

"Has he seen you?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to talk to him."

"Sneak out the back. Kimber and I can cover for you."

Jerrica obeyed and walked casually to the nearest exit. When she glanced over her shoulder, she could see Rio working his way toward her through the crowd. She entered the hallway and followed the path to the elevators and pushed the button. The chime of the floor stop sounded when she heard Rio enter the hallway. He called her name, and she cursed the slow moving doors. She knew she wasn't going to make when she heard his footsteps getting closer. In desperation she tapped her earring and whispered, "Showtime, Synergy."

—oOo—

Rio stuck his arm in the doors just before they came to a close. When the doors opened, where he expected to see Jerrica, he instead found himself face to face with Jem, lead singer of The Holograms. He gasped. For one brief moment he thought he saw her surrounded by a halo of light. He rubbed his weary eyes and dismissed the illusion as an artifact of the alcohol that he had been drinking.

The contours of her face were flawless. She wore the same style of dress as Jerrica, but the colors where different, and they served to compliment her pink hair. The hair itself hung as if every strand were put in place by an artist.

"Jem?"

"Rio." Jem nodded in acknowledgement as she stepped out of the car.

"I was looking for Jerrica."

"She had to take off. You must have just missed her."

He took a sip of the scotch that he was nursing, trying desperately not to look like a star struck teenager. "I… didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same. So, what brings you by?"

"Starlight Music is privately held. I figured this would be the best place to sell my holdings."

"Oh." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "So that's why you were looking for her?"

"No, that wouldn't've been appropriate. I'm selling to Pitman. I just wanted to break all my ties to this place."

"Do you hate her that much?"

He looked at her with an expression of shock. "Of course not! I just wanted to tell her something: to apologize for how things turned out. But, I guess she doesn't want to have anything more to do with me. Not that I blame her."

She started to fidget, interlacing her fingers as she walked tentatively back toward the meeting room. "You could… tell me; I'll make sure to pass it along."

Rio shrugged. "Sure. I've practiced it so many times in the mirror, someone might as well hear it." He downed the rest of his scotch and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He stood up straight and cleared his throat. "I was going to start out with a compliment like, _Hello Ms. Benton, you look lovely this evening. Have you done something different with your hair?_ "

Jem snorted. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Well, I didn't exactly practice that part. I wanted it to sound genuine."

"I see," she said, shaking her head in amusement.

He laughed nervously. "I didn't expect it to be this awkward."

"You don't have to, Rio—"

"No, I want to." Rio sighed. "Jerrica won't return my calls, and I just... I have to get this off my chest, you know?"

"You want closure." Jem approached. "I'll make Jerrica understand."

Rio continued reading, "Jerrica, I'm sorry for how it all ended. As your boyfriend, it was my job to protect you from pain. However, I ended up being a source of it. If I had only just concentrated on loving you, we might still be together." He stopped reading to gauge her reaction, "How is it so far? Too much?"

She blushed. "It's not bad. What else have you got?"

"When I look into your eyes…"

Rio paused when he happened to look up from the paper, and their eyes met. He walked closer, allowing him to gaze deeply into her. His heart raced. They were connected. He crumpled the paper in his hand and discarded it. The sound of the paper meeting the ground at his feet echoed loudly. "When I look into your eyes, I see the mother of my children. When I look into your eyes, I see the only woman I'll ever be capable of loving. It took me this long to realize as long as I have _you_ , I don't need to know everything. The secrets don't matter."

They kissed.

Her hair smelled of roses and honeysuckle, _like Jerrica's_. Her lips were soft and wanting, _like Jerrica's_. He reached under her dress and inserted a finger behind the strap of her panties, feeling her naked skin as he slowly pulled them down. He followed her roundness, resting his finger on the crease where her butt met the back of her thigh. It all felt so familiar, so smooth, and so… _Jerrica._

How was such a thing possible? For two women to be so alike, in spite of the fact that sweet Jerrica would never whisper lustful curses in his ear, _like Jem_. Timid Jerrica would never reach down and unbuckle his trousers with a room full of people next door, _like Jem_. Prim Jerrica would never invade his mouth, taking in the alcohol on his breathe and gently tugging on his lower lip with her teeth as he pulled away, _like Jem_.

"I love you, Je—"

—oOo—

In a panic, she pushed him off. She did not want him to finish that sentence. She did not want to know _who_ he was kissing.

_Oh my God! I've got to get out of here!_

Jem ran back to the meeting room as she fastened her clothes. Rio watched her leave, being too stunned to follow. He looked down to his trousers and buckled his belt.

—oOo—

Aja had since mingled into the crowd, although she kept an eye on the exit after Rio followed Jerrica out. To her surprise, she saw Jem enter the room shortly after. Aja casually broke away from a group having an uninteresting discussion over pork futures, and she made her way to meet her lead singer. She grabbed Jem by the arm and negotiated her into a remote corner before they were noticed.

Aja looked around to make sure they weren't being watched. "What are you doing here, _Jem_?" she said, through a fake smile.

"Rio cornered Jerrica in the hallway, so Jem had to run interference."

"You smell like alcohol. Have you been drinking?"

Jem's eyes widened, and she instinctively covered her mouth with her hand. "No."

"So, what happened?"

"Well, he apologized to Jerrica, by proxy, we kissed, and then I left."

Aja squeezed Jem's arm tighter. "Whoa! What did you say?" She struggled to keep her voice low.

Jem blushed. "I said he apologized."

"No, the part after that."

She smiled weakly. "I left?"

Aja's eyes narrowed. "Before that."

Jem closed her eyes and sighed. "I kissed him."

"You mean you kissed him _goodbye_ , right?"

Jem bit her lip. "Not exactly."

"Have you lost your mind, girl?"

By this time, people started to notice Jem's entrance and began to approach, forcing them to cut their conversation short.

"I don't want to get into this now, Aja," she said, retreating behind the fans asking for her autograph. "Don't worry; I can handle Rio."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Aja left Jem to her celebrity and proceeded through the back exit. Once out into the hallway, she found Rio standing by the elevators.

"Rio." She greeted him with arms akimbo.

"Hello, Aja," he replied absentmindedly.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It's an investor's meeting, is it not? I came here to sell my holdings—"

She held up her index finger, cutting him off. Again, she asked, "What. Do you think. You are doing?"

Rio sighed as he looked down at his feet. "I don't know, Aja." He pushed the button on the control panel and waited patiently.

"I do _NOT_ want to go through this drama again, just because Jem doesn't have the good sense to tell you to fuck off!"

"I only came here to apologize to Jerrica."

"With Jem's lipstick smeared all over your face?"

"I guess I deserved that." He said. "Look, Aja, I know you hate me—"

"I don't hate you, Rio—"

"But, I wasn't the one who lied, and I wasn't the one that chose her secrets over me."

"Think hard, Rio… was _she_ the only one who played the deception game?"

For the first time, he looked her in the eyes. "I still love her."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

He snorted quietly as he rubbed the back of neck. "You know, it's hard to tell if you're talking about Jerrica or Jem."

Aja was taken aback by his observation, but she continued to press him, saying, "Yes, it makes one wonder why, especially since the person that we're talking about should be obvious."

Rio smiled. "I deserved that too." With a chime, the doors finally opened, allowing him to step inside the car.

"Look, Rio," she said in a calmer tone, "You've been like a brother; I'm not asking you to stay out of Jerrica's life. Just give her some space."

Aja looked into Rio's eyes as the doors came to a close, searching in vain for any hint of acknowledgement. Now alone in the lobby, she turned to go back to the meeting hall when she stepped on something. She looked down to regard the wadded piece of paper at her feet.


	5. B-side

**Sausalito, California**

Stormer released the keys, and the final chord of the melody began to decay. The hall, once filled with music, was immediately replaced by the roar of the crowd at song's end. She loved this part of the show, but before she could revel in the energy, she was blinded when the all of the lights on stage flickered off. She fumbled her way to center stage. Her arm brushed against the warm brass of Jetta's saxophone when she passed her. Looking down at her feet, she smiled in relief and silently thanked whoever had the forethought to install dimmer lights in the baseboards along the walkway.

An involuntary yelp escaped Stormer's lips when something hard poked her in the back, and she turned out of the way of the guitar head. The big white hair of the person holding it was relatively easy to make out in the darkness. "Watch it, Roxy!"

"Stormer?" Roxy reached out. "I can't see."

"Don't worry." Stormer took her pale hand. "I've got you."

Stormer led Roxy to the backstage area, trailing behind Jetta and their lead singer Pizzazz. The security detail escorted them to their dressing rooms. The door's close at their ingress did nothing to abate the endless sounds of applause. Stormer took off her dress, and a team of assistants tended to her. She towelled the sweat off her skin and joined the rest of her bandmates. She closed her eyes as one set of hands blow dried her hair while another massaged the joints in her wrists and fingers.

The din of the dryer had died down by the time Stormer's eyes became accustomed to the lighting. She opened them and rested her gaze on Pizzazz, who was drinking her usual elixir of spring water and lime when the stage manager approached her. Stormer couldn't hear what they were saying across the room, but judging by the way that the manager was pointing at his watch, she surmised that they went over their time again. She snorted in amusement knowing that Pizzazz was in no position to hear them in earnest, not when they were all caught up in the rush of hearing their fans chant their _nom de bande_ _:_

_"Misfits! Misfits! Misfits!..."_

Pizzazz finished her drink, waved off her subordinates, and she stood up tall, saying, "The show isn't over until _I_ say it's over."

Stormer knew that that was her cue to stand up. Roxy and Jetta followed suit, and more assistants arrived to provide them all with raiment appropriate for an encore. A rack full of couture dresses was wheeled in front of her. Stormer arched an eyebrow when she noticed that they were all the same color—although the designs were varied. She thought it odd, until she saw that the others got a similar treatment, with the colors matching each of their unique hairstyles:

Pizzazz promptly slid her emerald piece over her head. It sparkled under the lights as it fell in place over her thin frame. She twisted the buckle on the gaudy designer belt tied loosely around her waist. All the while Stormer eyed the green gems embedded in the leather. _I wouldn't be surprised if those were real emeralds._

Stormer couldn't help but snigger when Jetta sent back her rack and demanded another. Apparently none of the selections matched with her black and gold saxophone. _At this rate, she'll end up going on stage wearing nothing at all_.

Stormer felt like a new woman with the cerulean dress draped over her body. Her eyes widened as her hands followed the twin beads of topaz sewn along the seam. Blushing, she tried in vain to pull the hemline down another inch. _I'm glad my brother isn't in the audience tonight._

Roxy, on the other hand, didn't mind showing off her body in her ivory number. Her's had a circular midriff cut out, exposing her belly. However, her skin was so pale that it was hard to differentiate her bare tummy from the surrounding fabric. Her dress was just as short as Stormer's, but she opted to coordinate it with knee high leather boots that complemented her toned legs. Stormer pouted as she watched her pose in the mirror. _Why didn't_ I _think of that?_

Jetta had finally decided on, or more likely settled for, a chic bubble-sleeved dress with fishnet stockings. The gold frills that lined the bottom of her obsidian mini swayed in unison as she slid her dainty feet into her Mary Jane style pumps.

They left the dressing room. Stormer took her place beside Jetta at the edge of the stage. She impatiently tapped her fingers at the base of her keytar, waiting for the announcer's call. All the while Roxy's overriding voice could be heard cursing out the stage hand who was responsible for shutting all the lights off earlier. The band's entrance onto the platform was met by the approval of the audience. The spotlight followed the four musicians as they made their way to the marker usually reserved for the lead singer. Stormer loved to improvise with _B-side_ material. Performing on the fly in a live concert was a welcome challenge because, for one thing, it meant they would have to play close together. This was when Stormer felt like she was truly a part of _The Misfits_ rather than a glorified backup vocalist. In this venue, they spoke to each other as equals in the language of music.

Pizzazz nodded in Roxy's direction, for tonight was her turn to start the set. Roxy brushed her white hair aside, and with deliberation she plucked three chords on her bass guitar, each one more baritone that the last. The speakers reverberated the air in the hall; bits of dried plaster from the ceiling above settled onto the stage—asbestos-laced snowflakes. With a gleam in her eye, she changed the key and ripped into a run, her fingers gliding across the neck of her instrument.

Jetta jumped in on cue. Her piercing syncopating melody was the perfect complement to Roxy's smooth bass rhythm.

Of course, Stormer was no slouch, herself. Whenever Jetta's Sax posed a question, her keytar had an answer with its erudite dulcet tones.

Pizzazz was a good guitarist in her own right. However, it was her vocals that put the icing on the cake and served to be the glue for the competing harmonies.

Before Stormer knew it, the show was over, and they bowed out, hamming it up all the way in true Misfit fashion. Stormer couldn't wait to slip out of her shoes. Once inside the dressing room, she plopped into the chair next to Roxy and massaged the muscles in her legs. Her brow furrowed when she noticed that something was missing. "Where's the food cart?"

Roxy frowned. "No delivery tonight. Pizzazz is itching to leave now for some reason." She rose from here chair.

"Where are you going?" Stormer asked.

"Checking to see if the buffet is still open; I'm starving... You coming?"

Stormer's grumbling stomach was all the encouragement she needed to tag along. The distraction of their hunger made for a short trip to the buffet table. When they got there, Stormer prepared doggie bags for herself and the others while Roxy opted not to wait.

The walk back seemed to take much longer. The corridor leading to the limo was long and twisted. The dirty plaster on the walls was peeling and made odd shadows when cast in the lighting overhead. The only sound that could be heard, other than their footsteps, was Stormer's purse of goodies as it brushed against her leg. Roxy finished off the last of her deli sandwich and seemed to be in better spirits, so Stormer decided to break the silence:

"I noticed that you didn't smash you guitar onstage tonight."

Roxy shrugged. "Eric said he'd only pay for five this year, so I'm pacing myself."

"I liked your improv for the encore."

"Meh, it was okay."

Stormer playfully bumped Roxy in order to goad her out of her reticence. "Blues in E-flat? Swapping by the fours?"

She shrugged again. "If you say so. You know I just go by ear."

"Yea, I know. I just find it curious given that it's in the same style as that demo I played for you last week. Does this mean that you're thinking about our little solo project?"

"I think you're looking too deeply into it," Roxy replied. "Is this why you're being so touchy-feely today?" She reached into the purse Stormer was carrying and pulled out the bag of corn chips reserved for Jetta.

Stormer promptly snatched the chips back. "You take that back. I am not touchy-feely."

Out of the corner of her eye, Roxy saw that Stormer was pouting, and she sighed. "Yes, I've been thinking about it."

Stormer's expression softened. "Good."

"As long as this isn't some kind of stunt to trick me into working with a Hologram."

"I would never do something so cruel. This single would just be me and you." She playfully poked Roxy's arm.

"Why didn't you ask your Hologram gal-pal Kimber to cut another album with you?" Roxy asked with a scowl. "Or does Pizzazz not want you working with her anymore?"

"Well, for one, this song that I've written is tailor made for your vocals. And besides, why should Pizzazz care if I work with Kimber again given that we're under a truce with the Holograms?"

Roxy's eyes narrowed. "Truce? What truce?"

Exasperated, Stormer replied, "You were standing right next to Pizzazz when she buried the hatchet with Jem at Bah-nee's going away party last year. Don't you remember?"

Roxy snorted. "Oh, that? That was just for the party. It wasn't meant to be permanent."

Stormer's pout returned. "You're not going start anything with them again are you? Now that my brother is getting serious with Aja, it's going to make Thanksgivings awkward enough."

"Well, picking on The Holograms has gotten boring. It just doesn't have the same _zing_ that it used to," Roxy replied, flippantly. "So, I guess I can leave the hatchet buried."

Stormer smiled. She reached into her purse and proffered Jetta's bag of corn chips. "See there? You can be nice when you want to be—"

"You take that back." Roxy snatched the bag from her. "I am not nice."

"Yes, you are." Stormer put her arm around her shoulder, even though Roxy ignored her affections while she picked through the bag. "You do realize those are for Jetta, right?"

"Yeah," she replied, with her mouth full. "What's your point?"

Stormer was about to answer when a figure approached them from the other side of the hallway. It was obvious that he wasn't part of the crew as he was dressed in dirty, green rags. He lumbered in their direction, hugging the opposite wall and nursing a bottle of booze wrapped in a brown paper sack.

_Where's security?_

Her hand found her way around Roxy's arm. To her dismay, Roxy didn't once break stride and continued to push past the vagrant. Stormer stayed close behind her; she breathed a sigh of relief when he was out of earshot.

"Sheesh, they'll give a backstage pass to anyone these days," Roxy said.

Stormer felt more relaxed when they came within sight of the limousine. They were met at the door by Zipper—one of their manager's more shady cronies. They slid into the roomy backseat and sat on the other side of Pizzazz and Jetta. Pizzazz was flipping through the local TV stations. Jetta had her saxophone broken down in her lap so as to clean it as she never trusted anyone with her instrument, least of all the loading crew.

"Where have you two been?" Pizzazz said.

Roxy shrugged. "We got something to eat."

"I told you I wanted to get out of here."

"And I told you I was hungry."

Stormer sought to pre-emptively defuse the situation with, "Pizzazz, you know how cranky we get when we're hungry. We brought you some food too."

When Stormer placed the purse in the middle of the floor, Pizzazz and Jetta helped themselves. Stormer folded her arms and looked out the window as they drove off. _W_ _ould it have killed them to say thank-you?_ Sometimes she wished they got along as well offstage as they did on.

Jetta grabbed a soda and chips, poking through the bag for a full minute, and she glared at Roxy. "Eh, now? What's the big idea?"

Stormer pinched her brow. _Here we go again..._

A wicked smile visited Roxy's lips. "Moi?"

"You picked out all the extra-cheesy ones."

"That's because I like the extra-cheesy ones."

"So do I, you daft cow!"

"Hey, I didn't say anything last week when you ate all the cherry popsicles and left only the green ones in the box—"

"That's because I don't like the green ones, yank."

"Nobody likes the green ones, fog breather!"

"I like the green ones—"

"Shut up, Stormer!" Jetta and Roxy said in unison.

Pizzazz clicked the TV off, seeing as how she couldn't hear it anyway. "How about you _all_ shut up! You're ruining my buzz."

"But, Pizzazz, you haven't started drinking yet," Stormer replied with a grin.

"Exactly."

"Well, I think tonight calls for a special celebration to kick off this tour," Jetta proclaimed. "Especially considering how we kicked butt tonight."

"When do we not kick butt?" Roxy said, irritated by Jetta's hubris. Jetta merely rolled her eyes in response.

Pizzazz shook her head. "No party tonight; we're blowing this berg. I hate Sausalito. There's nothing to do here."

Roxy grinned. "Does it have anything to do with the total lack of cute straight guys to _not_ do anything with?"

"Well, I just assumed otherwise since we're not heading back to the hotel," Jetta said.

Pizzazz's eyes lifted. Nonplussed, she quickly glanced out of the window to take note of their surroundings. "You're right. This isn't the way back." The irritation in her voice became apparent as she switched on the intercom. "Zipper! I told you to take us back to the hotel, you idiot!"

The driver did not answer right away. Pizzazz was about to lower the privacy glass when a voice responded:

"Relax. We're taking the scenic route."

"Scenic route, my ass! Turn this car around now!" Seeing that her order was ignored, she continued to push the other buttons on the control panel to no effect. "Zipper is so fired when we get out of here!"

"That wasn't Zipper: something about the voice isn't right," Roxy said, with an uncharacteristically pensive expression.

Jetta snorted nervously. "What are you babbling about?"

Pizzazz continued to click the buttons on the control panel to no avail. "Don't get all dramatic. We all saw Zipper very clearly when we got into the car."

"But, what if she's right," Stormer said. "What are we going to do?"

"I said don't get all dramatic. We've been in tougher scrapes, Misfits," Pizzazz said with resolve in her voice. It was times like this that she showed why she was their leader both on and off the stage. "We'll play it dumb for now and jump him when he lets us out. This is obviously Zipper's idea of a joke—a very unfunny joke."

Stormer appreciated Pizzazz's confidence. However, something about this new turn of events gave her pause. Pizzazz was indeed correct in that, as a group, the Misfits have fallen into many odd adventures, but this time felt different. Looking around the car at her bandmates, the apprehension in their manner, she knew that they felt it too. Lost in her thoughts, her hand clasped around Roxy's wrist.


	6. Target Acquired

**Sausalito, California – warehouse district.**

Roxy regarded Stormer's hand clasped tightly around her wrist. Stormer's attention seemed to be miles away. When they stopped at the next intersection, a man from the street approached the limousine and sprayed water on the windows. He then proceeded to clean the glass with his squeegee.

Stormer beat on the door from the inside to get his attention. "Hello? Can you hear me? Help us!"

"You're wasting your breath." Roxy said, massaging her wrist. "He can't help us."

"Why?"

She folded her arms and scowled. "Because he's homeless."

Stormer wiped the streaks of mascara that had dried on her cheeks. "You were homeless once."

Roxy curled her lip, but did not respond. Stormer continued to beat on the glass. The driver rolled down the window and threw some spare change out onto the pavement, which the vagrant eagerly collected. The light turned green, and they were off again. Roxy had been proven right, but when she saw Stormer crestfallen, she took her hand and put her arm around her bandmate's shoulder.

The driver turned off the main road and followed the side streets into a complex of abandoned warehouses. They reached a parking lot that had fallen into disrepair. Weeds had started to grow through the many cracks in the concrete. They drove to the center of the lot and parked in front of an unmarked van stationed next to three men on motorcycles. A fourth man, with mussed auburn hair, stepped out of the van, walked over to the limo, and opened the passenger door.

"Get out."

Roxy watched Pizzazz exit first, followed by Stormer and Jetta. She hung back to check for the switchblades she kept concealed in her boots. When she finally stepped out, the man with the mussed hair closed the door behind her and shoved her with the others. Roxy glared back at him but did not protest—being more concerned with reckoning her surroundings. At first glance, these men all seemed like a low rent motorcycle gang. However, there was nothing low rent about their gear. Their motorcycles were custom made and state of the art.

The driver exited the limousine. From behind he looked like Zipper, but when he took his wig off to reveal his orange hair underneath, it confirmed Roxy's suspicion that he was an imposter. He took off Zipper's familiar jacket and tossed it to the biker with black hair. Apparently he was the leader, as he started giving orders to the blond biker, whom he referred to as Buzzer. He gave the Misfits a short once over and retired to the back of the van.

Pizzazz had become visibly bored with the theatrics. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are you jokers supposed to be?"

"We're The Dreadnoks, and we will be your escorts this evening." Buzzer replied, bowing with false graces.

Jetta stood next to Pizzazz, her saxophone gripped firmly in her hands. "We're not going anywhere with you, Goldilocks."

"Now, that's not very nice. Someone outta teach you some manners."

Pizzazz rebuked Buzzer, saying, "Here's a tip, asstard: you'd get more respect if you didn't name your gang after a hairstyle. Now, run along before your rivals, _The French Braids_ , stop by for a rumble."

Roxy clenched her jaw. _Sheesh, Pizzaz, don't play with these guys!_

Buzzer laughed. "No, luv, I didn't say, 'dreadlocks.' I said _Dreadnoks_."

"Like anyone gives a flip, bloke," Jetta said.

"What's with all this palaver, Buzzer?" said the red-haired biker.

"Quiet, Torch," Buzzer replied. "We're just having a nice conversation." He turned back to Jetta and said, "Do I detect an accent, luv?"

"Yea, and I happen to be a close personal friend of the Queen Mum. So, you better watch yourself, wanker."

Buzzer snorted. "Didn't your mummy and daddy ever tell you what happens to little girls who tell lies?"

Stormer's focus remained on the jacket formerly worn by the limo driver, which was now sported by the black-haired biker. "Isn't that Zipper's jacket?"

"My name's Ripper, not Zipper, girlie," the biker donning the jacket replied.

Torch punched Ripper in the arm. "I think she's meanin' to inquire about the bloke who gave you that jacket."

"Oh, right." Ripper turned his attention to the mussed-hair Dreadnok and said, "The pretty girl wants an audience with Zipper. Why don't you bring him out for us, Monkeywrench?"

"Sure thing, Ripper." Monkeywrench opened the trunk to the limo and reached inside. "It was awfully nice o' him. But, then again, it's not like he needed it anymore." He closed the trunk and threw a bag onto the pavement. The bag struck the floor, the clasp loosened, and an object rolled out.

The Misfits all shrieked at once. Roxy and Stormer shuffled back when Zipper's head rolled across their toes. It wobbled back and forth to finally settle on its side—its rigid expression telling of how Zipper was very much alive at the time his head was sawed off.

Monkeywrench walked slowly toward the Misfits, stepping calmly over Zipper's remains. He made a grab for Jetta, but Roxy pushed him. He stumbled but regained his balance. With a snarl he back handed Roxy across her face. She fell to her knees, and banged her head on the side of the door.

"Bitch slap!" Ripper cheered, egging him on.

Roxy wiped a trickle of blood from her lip. She grabbed the disembodied head by the hair, stood up and swung as hard as she could, smashing the cranium against Monkeywrench's forehead.

The Dreadnok fell to the ground, and the other Misfits followed Roxy's lead in kicking him. Helpless, he covered up.

Torch leaned back in his chopper and laughed. "Oi, right brutal that is."

Buzzer smirked, content to let the spectacle go on for a little longer. "I s'pose we should help him, eh? After all, we are on the clock."

Buzzer, Ripper, and Torch dismounted. Pizzazz and Stormer were the first to go, being surprised from behind by Ripper and Buzzer. They took the women kicking and screaming behind the van.

Roxy and Jetta stood back to back to fight off Torch and Monkeywrench. Jetta swung blindly, using her signature saxophone as a weapon. Roxy drew the switchblade hidden in her boot and slashed at Torch.

Torch hopped back, but not before the blade cut his shirt open. "Oi, this one has some street in her."

The orange-haired driver came from behind the van, escorted by Ripper and Buzzer. He carried a silver oblong device with a lens on the end and tapped it impatiently against his leg as he approached. "Torch, what's taking so long?"

"We have things under control, Zandar," Torch said. He dodged another swipe.

"It doesn't look like it from where I stand." Zandar nodded to Ripper.

Ripper pushed Monkeywrench aside. He raised his rifle; the attached saber-bayonet cut through Jetta's saxophone as if it were tin foil. "That'll be enough of that, luv."

Jetta gasped, her instrument now in pieces. Monkeywrench and Ripper grabbed Jetta's arms. Roxy watched, helpless, as they held her while Zandar pointed the machine at Jetta. A blue light shot out of the device and enveloped the raven-haired Misfit in energy. After the energy dissipated, she feinted and slumped in their grasp. Monkeywrench slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the back of the van.

Roxy was distracted by the display which allowed Torch to slap the knife from her hand. He held her fast in a bear hug. Zandar pointed the device at Roxy, but nothing happened.

"What's wrong?" Torch asked.

Zandar checked the scanner readout briefly. "There's an error scanning this one."

"Is the doohickey busted?"

"No." Zandar grabbed Roxy firmly by the chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. " _Oculocutaneous amelanism_."

Torch grimaced. "Ew! Is it contagious?"

Buzzer slapped Torch on the back of the head. "It means she's an albino _,_ you moron."

Zandar released Roxy. "I'll have to recalibrate the scanner. In the meantime, I'll process the scans I've collected so far. " He headed back to the van.

Buzzer let out an exaggerated sigh. "How long is that gonna take? Zartan is not gonna be happy if we're late."

"It takes as long as it takes; I'm not making a pizza."

Before Buzzer could respond, Ripper cut him off saying, "No worries, Zandar. Take your time." He turned to Buzzer and said with a wink, "I've never had an albino before."

"Me neither." Buzzer returned Ripper's wink with a leer. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Getting a sense of where this was going, Torch shook his head in disgust. "I don't know, mates, look at her eyes: they're red like blood. Them's the devil's eyes."

Buzzer promptly slapped Torch on the back of the head again. "It's cuz she's got no pigment, you numskull."

"Yeah, so quit yer whinin' and hold her down," Ripper added.

Torch obeyed and held Roxy on the ground with her hands above her head. Roxy kicked and bucked violently, until Buzzer grabbed her by the ankles. Her only recourse was to assault them verbally, spitting and cursing at the top of her voice. That is, until Ripper kneeled over her, drew his blade and held the point under her chin.

"Hey! Don't cut her till we've had our turn!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Buzzer. This is just to keep her still."

 _Oh God! I don't wanna be here! I can't do this again!_ Roxy resisted the urge to panic when Ripper slid his hand up through her midriff and under her bra. A wave of nausea swept over her with every squeeze and pinch of his fingers .

Buzzer's hands were rough and chaffed the skin of her inner thigh. Fighting against her instincts, she allowed her legs to part, giving him easier access. Her hands, held fast between Torch's legs, probed until she found his bulge. With her fingertips, she began to caress it lightly. She couldn't stop her jaw from trembling, but she did her best to make the whimpers that came out of her mouth sound like moans.

"I think the slut likes it," Torch said.

"Yea, just like that whore in Vegas," Ripper replied.

Roxy swallowed the lump in her throat so she could speak. She leaned in to whisper in Ripper's ear, "A-are you h-hard?"

"Oh, yea, baby."

"I-I wanna s-see it."

Ripper stood over her and started to unbuckle his trousers. "Luv, you're gonna feel it in about two seconds—"

"Good!" She violently slipped her legs out of Buzzer's relaxed grip. She coiled under Ripper and kicked with both feet into his exposed groin.

Ripper screamed and instinctively grabbed his crotch as he fell backwards onto Buzzer. At the same time, her fingers clasped around Torch's bulge. The thick denim of his pants kept her from digging her nails in, but it was enough to make him let go. Roxy scrambled to her feet. She lost her bearings, so she ran without regard for direction. If she could make it to one of the abandoned buildings, then she could disappear; they would never find her. Unfortunately, she forgot about Monkeywrench. He caught up to her, grabbed her by the hair and spun her around. She swung blindly and managed to knock the glasses off his face. He punched her in the stomach. She hugged her belly and eased herself to the ground. Her diaphragm spasmed as she gasped for air. Her teeth clenched to stop the whimpers, but there was nothing she could do to stop the tears.

The noise had attracted Zandar's attention. "What in the hell are you idiots doing? Stop screwing around and set her up for a rescan." After reprimanding them, he returned to the van to finish his calibrations.

Ripper, who was still doubled over in pain, said, "I'm gonna cut you for that, bitch!" He forced himself to his feet, one hand remaining cupped over his groin. He managed to stand, although he remained half-bent.

Buzzer shook his head. "No, if you kill her now, Zartan'll 'ave your head."

"But, I wanna see her bleed. She'll look so pretty in red. What's the difference if we scan a corpse?"

"Back off, bloke," Torch said, putting himself between her and Ripper. "You're not ruining my bonus because you took one in the jewels. You only 'ave yourself to blame."

"Yea, Ripper. Where's your sense of professionalism?" Monkeywrench added.

The round table discussion was interrupted by the sound of lumbering footsteps in the darkness. The transient, dressed in green rags, stepped out of the shadows. He kicked back his head to finish off the last of his booze. With a belch, he discarded the bottle; it shattered loudly against pavement.

"You bucks got any spare change?" he said, struggling to maintain his balance.

"No, we don't have any change," Monkeywrench said. "Get a job, you bum. I can smell the rotgut on you from here!"

The bum approached closer, eyeing the half-conscious Roxy. "That's a nice piece of tail you guys have there. Can I watch?"

Torch, resolved to keep Ripper restrained, spat on the ground, saying, "Someone else get him out of here! And put 'im down, _quiet-like_."

Buzzer approached the transient and grabbed him tightly by the shoulder. "Sorry, bloke, this is a private train: no looksies."

The transient stumbled and held onto Buzzer's wrist, as if for support. When Buzzer raised his Billy club, a hint of a smile escaped the transient's lips. Before Buzzer could react, a pain shot down to his shoulder as his arm was hypersupinated in a joint lock. He was then spun off his feet and fell hard on his back. A follow-up stomp to the side of his head made sure he stayed down.

Maintaining the element of surprise, the transient rushed the nearest Dreadnok with a spinning backfist. Monkeywrench took the shot easily enough, but before he realized it was merely a distraction, a size thirteen-delta army boot lodged into the side of his ribs.

Roxy was half conscious when Torch's roar roused her back to awareness. She bolted upright to see the burly Dreadnok rush the bum who stopped to clean their windshield: the same bum that she now remembered passing in the hallway with Stormer. The 'bum' threw off his raggedy poncho, and he gracefully sidestepped Torch's charge—like a skilled toreador—to reveal the military grade combat fatigues that he wore underneath.

Roxy heard a sound and turned to see Ripper reach for his gun. Without regard as to whether this new stranger was friend or foe, she called out to warn him. However, it was unnecessary; he spun in midair and released an object at the height of his inertia. Ripper slumped to the ground, grabbing his forehead as well as his groin. The squeegee clacked loudly on the concrete as it fell next to him after bouncing off his skull.

Torch was back on his feet. He and the stranger squared off, but Torch was more careful this time, and he drew his knife. The stranger held his ground, keeping his fists up _en garde_. He waited patiently, tracking Torch with his lead hand as he attempted to maneuver in at an angle. When Torch feinted, the stranger made his move. Pushing off with his back leg, he brought his lead arm down to parry the knife thrust before planting his back fist dead center into Torch's nose. The Dreadnok's head snapped back violently; he staggered briefly and collapsed on his side. The stranger remained vigilant, making sure that there were no more enemies lurking about.

In the space of barely a minute, this man had taken out four armed professionals. The action had been so furious that Roxy never got a clear look at the stranger's face. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a balaclava which he put over his head. She wasn't sure if this was a rescue or if she was merely trading one set of kidnappers for another. The fact that he was now wearing a ski mask did nothing to inspire her confidence as to his intentions. As a result, she deemed it prudent to err in her favor, so when he approached her, she forced herself to her feet and reared back.

"Get away from me!"

He caught her punch and grabbed her firmly by the arms. "We don't have time for this. I'm here to help you. My name is Beach Head. I'm an agent for G.I. Joe."

 _G.I. Joe_. The name sprouted images in Roxy's head; images that she remembered seeing on the news: men in green shooting at men in blue, a funny man in a mask that talked with a lisp, stories that she dismissed as propaganda—until she found herself living one. "You have to help my friends."

"I know. Stay behind me."

She obeyed and stood at a comfortable distance as she watched the soldier draw his pistol and advance to the back of the vehicle where the rest of the Misfits were taken. He held his position when Zandar stepped out from behind the van.

"Don't move, Zandar."

Zandar stopped in his tracks; his expression was one of surprise. "G.I. Joe?"

"You're under arrest. Release your prisoners. Now!"

Zandar's expression hardened, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Your wish is my command."

A figure dressed in cerulean stepped out from behind Zandar. Roxy's eyes widened, and she ran past Beach Head to meet her.

"Stormer!"

"Roxy?" The woman in blue held out her hand. "I'm scared. Please..."

"It's okay, Stormer, you're safe now. I have you."

Roxy reached back to take her hand. Their fingers were about to touch when Beach Head pushed Roxy aside. He leveled his pistol at the woman in cerulean.

_BLAM!_

Roxy looked on in horror at the hole left in her bandmate's head. Stormer's eyes rolled up in their sockets; her eyelids fluttered, and her head snapped back, as if it had been detached from her neck. She fell straight onto her back as stiff as a board.

Roxy drew her backup switchblade; the spring's action was inaudible, but the familiar flick of the handle informed her that the weapon was ready. She rushed the soldier, and stabbed him in his shoulder. Caught off guard, Beach Head tripped and fell backwards, the knife held fast in his Kevlar vest. Roxy straddled him. In her grief, and retroactive rage, she flailed her fists upon him with furious aggression.

The tears in her eyes clouded her vision, so she swung blind as she cursed him. "YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU! SHE WAS MY FRIEND!"

Beach Head struggled to pull the knife out of his shoulder while he fended off Roxy's punches. Through clenched teeth he replied, "That's not your friend!"

Roxy paused from sheer exhaustion. She wiped the tears from her eyes when she caught a glimpse of movement: Stormer was sitting up. Roxy looked on, mouth agape, as the bullet worked its way out of the entry hole in Stormer's forehead to fall to the pavement.

The hole began to seal itself, and the woman in cerulean looked back at Roxy with lifeless eyes. She cocked her head to one side as she crouched on all fours. "That wasn't very nice."

Roxy blinked. "What the fu—"

She tackled Roxy, and they rolled for several feet onto the hard concrete, ending with Stormer sitting astride her. Roxy whimpered from the pain as Stormer pinned her down. They were nose to nose, allowing Roxy to see even more closely into her captor's inhuman eyes. She didn't understand how, but she now believed that this thing was not Stormer. What was even more bone chilling was to hear it speak in her bandmate's familiar voice:

" _Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Conclusion:_ administer a non-lethal dose of trichloromethane to ensure compliance."

This thing that looked like Stormer opened its mouth. Roxy gasped as a large metallic nozzle protruded slowly out of its orifice. Roxy turned her head aside to avoid the thick green gas that shot out of the nozzle. It splashed against her cheek. In a panic, she screamed for help—and help came.

Beach Head jumped onto the thing's back. With a flick of his wrist, a baton extended from his hand. He brought it under the automaton's neck and squeezed hard enough to break the neck of a normal human. However, the best he could manage was to pinch off the gas that shot out of the nozzle. He rolled backwards, leveraging all of his 180 pounds to peel it off of Roxy. With it now positioned over him, he kicked it off with both legs and sent it flying for several feet.

The synthoid landed on all fours like a cat. It crab walked left and right, trying to get a bead on her. Beach Head kept himself between it and Roxy. He drew his weapon and fired, but it scurried with frightening speed to dodge the bullets. He stopped firing, but kept his weapon raised—best to save his ammo for when he really needed it. Keeping one eye on the synthoid, he tried to assist Roxy, but she was still groggy from the effects of the chloroform, so he let her rest.

"Wh—what is that thing?" she said, coughing to clear her lungs.

"It's called a synthoid. I'll hold it off for as long as I can."

When the synthoid leapt, Beach Head dropped and rolled backwards, and it sailed over him. He vaulted to his feet when the synthoid landed behind him and greeted it with a jumping-spinning crescent kick that connected with the side of its skull. Its head spun 180 degrees from the force of the kick. In a macabre display, it charged again, its dislocated head bobbed back and forth. Beach Head sidestepped it and planted a knee into its midsection. He then twisted in the opposite direction and struck the base of its neck with his baton.

The synthoid retreated briefly to twist its head back into alignment. "Implementing countermeasures for Okinawan Uechi-Ryu Karate."

Synthoid-Stormer pushed off the ground with its arms and cartwheeled behind him. Beach Head ducked a jumping-spinning crescent kick aimed to take his head off. On the return, it punched him dead center in the chest. Beach Head dropped his baton; the force of the punch sent him stumbling backward. He recovered his balance just as the synthoid assailed him. He parried the punch, hooked his arm behind its neck, and flipped it to the ground. He maintained a hold of its arm, supinating the appendage at the elbow as hard as he could.

"Implementing countermeasures for Korean Hapkido."

It spun out of the joint lock and turned to reverse the grip on its wrist. Beach Head rolled with the reverse and slipped under its arm to flip it over his shoulder. The synthoid rolled with the flip, rotated its shoulder an inhuman 270 degrees, and slipped under his arm to attempt the same shoulder throw.

_Its using my own tactics against me!_

Jerked off his feet, Beach Head rolled across the synthoid's back, each hand taking a handful of hair. Its head held fast, he spun it around, jammed his knee between its shoulder blades and brought all of his weight to bear upon its spine. But, it did not break: the synthoid was able to bend backwards to an impossible degree. It somersaulted sideways, losing a couple of clumps of hair in the process, and slipped its hand around the human's neck.

With one hand, it hoisted Beach Head above the ground as he struggled to breathe. Its other hand started to morph; the fingers melded together and lengthened to a razor thin edge.

" _Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission parameters:_ extirpation. _Conclusion:_ manual evisceration of the thoracic cavity."

Seizing upon the opportunity of close quarters, Beach Head jammed his pistol into the synthoid's mouth. "Let's see you implement countermeasures for this!"

_BLAM!_

The synthoid dropped him. Sparks shot out of its ears and nose briefly, and it fell to the ground—its limbs twitching.

Beach Head managed to catch his breath, but his reprieve was short lived. Looking back to the van, he saw that the rest of Zandar's "prisoners" were approaching: one dressed in emerald, and the other dressed in obsidian. Beach Head checked the ammo in his magazine and prepared to fire. His eyes narrowed when he noticed that the emerald Pizzazz-Synthoid stopped its advance. The skin on its arm bubbled, as if it were being superheated. The Pizzaz-Synthoid was forced to back away. The Jetta-Synthoid got a similar treatment and it likewise retreated from the invisible heat source. They stood there scanning the area, apparently searching for a way to safely pass to no avail.

Beach Head heaved a sigh of relief. "It's about time, Sci-Fi." He made his way back toward Roxy and helped her to her feet. "Coffee break's over. Can you run?"

Roxy shrugged him off. "Can _you_ keep up?"

They ran in a path parallel to their new found safety zone to a large building that led them in an alleyway, at the end of which was a broken fence. After they climbed over, they came upon an empty lot bordered by an abandoned stretch of road. There was nothing beyond that but darkness.

Beach Head drew his pistol. "They'll be coming!" He pointed to the right. "Head for the RV!"

Roxy continued to run toward the darkness—anything to get away from their pursuers. A mechanical clicking sound stopped her in her tracks. She felt heat emanating from the dark: there was something nearby. She yelped when a floodlight blinded her. She stepped outside of the glare to see the outline of a large hulking machine. Most of its features were hidden in shadow. Its outer 'skin' protruded and fanned out like scales on a pinecone. She approached it cautiously, the air surrounding it smelled like ozone. When she reached out to touch it, a jet of steam shot out of from under its tires. The behemoth lowered, and its metallic skin started to open. A ramp ejected from the portal and the figure of a man stepped out. He was clad in green and silver. A headpiece, resembling an astronaut's helmet, covered his face. He was carrying a weapon that looked like a ray gun straight out of a bad science fiction movie. He walked toward her, and she instinctively backed away, tripping on some loose gravel and landing on her backside.

He extended his hand to her saying, " _Come with me if you want to live_."

Beach Head caught up to them, firing the last of his ammo at the fast approaching synthoids. "Sci-Fi, cut that out, and get her inside the VAMP!"

Sci-Fi took Roxy by the arm and escorted her inside. With a hiss the door closed behind them. Roxy looked around in amazement as Sci-Fi strapped her into a nearby seat. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought she was inside of a spaceship. It was brightly lit in sterile, white colors. The cramped insides belied its massive exterior with every inch of usable space made available for various electronics. However, it was still roomy enough to walk around in. Sci-Fi took the station next to Roxy. A flat panel display above him showed an enhanced view of the grounds outside. Across from her sat another soldier dressed in gold fatigues and wearing a green helmet, whom Sci-Fi referred to as Airtight. Beach Head briskly walked by, nursing his shoulder from her stab wound. Her eyes followed him to the front of the vehicle. One of the two drivers turned in her seat to face him: a rather attractive woman with green eyes and auburn hair.

"You should've waited for us to get into position," she said to Beach Head.

"There was no time, Cover Girl." He turned to the co-driver, saying, "What's our status, Cross-Country?"

"All systems are green, but we're about to be overrun with synthoids."

"Magnetize the chassis."

A hum followed by a series of clicks was heard outside.

"Magnets on," Cross-Country said.

"Confirmed," Airtight replied. "Power levels are at 100 percent."

Beach Head pushed a button in the ceiling and a periscope descended. He peered into the eyepiece. "Prepare the synthoid countermeasures."

"Hypersonics are online," Airtight said, not taking his eyes off his monitor. "Standing by on your mark."

"Mark!"

A faint hum of electronics broke the silence as everyone in the cab waited with quiet apprehension. Roxy eyed the viewscreen above Sci-Fi's station. To her dismay, the synthoids continued their advance, showing no obvious signs of distress.

After several seconds, Beach Head cursed and discontinued the hypersonics. "The synthoid countermeasures aren't working. Can you remodulate the emitter?"

For the first time, Airtight looked up from his monitor and turned to face Beach Head. "I ran that pulse across the entire spectrum. It appears that they've overcome that design flaw."

"I hate upgrades!" Beach Head slapped the periscope back into the ceiling. "Cover Girl, get us out of here!"

Cover Girl pulled down the goggles that were propped above her forehead. When she touched the steering wheel, the dashboard lit up. She primed the accelerator and the engine roared. She was about to engage the transmission, when Cross-Country got a perimeter alert.

"Cover Girl! Bogey on our three o'clock!"

"I see him, Cross-Country."

Roxy's monitor, auto-synched to the alert, caught a glimpse of what tripped the alarm. She gasped. This thing that bored down on them easily outsized the Joe's VAMP.

Cover Girl popped the clutch and geared the stick just in time. Everyone jerked forward as the engine screamed in reverse. The display blurred when she cut the wheel and spun the car in a one-quarter turn as she slammed on the brakes. Their attacker missed them by mere feet. When the dust settled, the two vehicles were situated catty-corner with respect to the drivers. Cover Girl lowered her goggles and looked out her port window; she was face to face with the dreadnok Thrasher.

Thrasher rolled down his window and regarded Cover Girl. He eyed her with a wicked sneer, but bowed to her respectfully. Cover Girl smiled and graciously nodded back behind the glass. Without standing on further ceremony, Thrasher took out his pistol and aimed it point blank at her.

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

Cover Girl blew the dreadnok a kiss as his bullets harmlessly bounced off the VAMP's penteplastic windows. She tauntingly used her _middle_ finger to push her goggles back up over her eyes before speeding off.

-oOo-

Thrasher holstered his weapon and gave chase. "Zandar, I think I'm in love. Such flawless beauty—and the driver's not bad lookin' either."

"Move this bucket of bolts, Thrasher!" Zandar said from the gunner's station.

"No worries, boss. I got a HISS engine under the hood of this _Roadhog_. They're not gonna get away!"

"Then why is the distance between us _increasing?_ " Zandar said, impatiently.

"Good point." Thrasher flipped a switch on his control panel. "I'm gonna hit the nitrous."

A burst of speed brought them within range. Zandar swung the turret forward and squeezed the trigger.

—oOo—

The sound of high caliber rounds bouncing off the hull was deafening inside the VAMP.

"Grrr. They're cheating," Cover Girl said.

"Damage report," Beach Head ordered.

"Negligible," Sci-Fi replied. "The new armor is holding."

When the hail of bullets suddenly stopped, Roxy removed her fingers from her ears. "Anyone else wondering why they've stopped shooting?"

"They must've run out of nitrous," Cross-Country answered.

"Maybe, but they've still managed to leave behind some guests," said Sci-FI.

The other passengers watched the monitor above. The two remaining synthoids were crawling along the surface. One of them dug in its fingers and ripped out a piece of the hull.

"What are they doing?" Roxy asked.

"They appear to be ripping the armor plating off piece by piece," Airtight replied.

"And without it, we won't last long against that chain gun," Beach Head added. He turned to CoverGirl, saying, "What kind of firepower do we have on this thing?"

Cover Girl bit her lip. "We're riding unarmed."

"WHAT?!"

"Lt. Jenkins didn't approve outfitting us with heavy ammo going into an urban area. I didn't object because this was supposed to be a shakedown cruise anyway. I wasn't expecting to take us into battle."

"Me and the Lieutenant are going to have a conversation after this is over. Ok, I'm open to suggestions, people."

Sci-Fi made a grab for his laser rifle. "Let me burn 'em off, Beach."

"Negative. It is too early in the mission for martyrs."

"Think of something quick," Cover Girl said. "I can't shake them off; they're dug in like ticks!"

"If I plug the auxiliary communications conduit into the backup generator, then I can electrify the outer hull," Airtight offered.

"Won't that fry us too?" Beach Head asked.

"I doubt it," Cross-Country interjected. "I think it has something to do with the fact that we're rolling on rubber tires—"

Airtight scoffed. _"Nooo._ Actually, it has more to do with Coulomb's Law, which states—"

Beach Head cut them off. "Less jawjackin' and more action!"

Airtight crouched under his station and removed a panel. After cross connecting some of the wiring, he made his way to the back of the vehicle, stumbling from the violent movements of Cover Girl's driving. He braced himself against the wall and pulled down a lever. Sparks shot out from the switch; the lights flickered, then dimmed.

Roxy kept her eyes glued to the monitor. An arc of electricity ripped through the synthoids. They were paralyzed. "It's working!"

"But the feedback is wreaking havoc on our subsystems. We have to slow down," said Cross-Country.

"We've lost telemetry… power levels are down to eighty percent," Sci-Fi said.

Airtight turned off the generator and went back to his station. "I'll reroute what I can."

"Are they gone?" Roxy asked. Her monitor, having been disabled by the power spike, showed only static.

"Yes!" Cross-Country said with restrained enthusiasm. However, his jubilation was cut short when another hail of bullets filled the cabin with noise. "Brace for impact!"

Cross-Country's warning was barely audible through the din. Everyone was jerked forward when Thrasher's Roadhog struck the VAMP from behind.

SCHOOM!

The cabin filled with vapor. The emergency exhaust fans kicked in, sucking out the gasses. When the air cleared, the station where Roxy was seated was gone.

Beach Head got up from his station and bolted over to the empty space. He struggled to keep his balance in the moving car. "What the hell happened just now?"

Cover Girl cursed as she cut the wheel and turned into a side street. "That last hit must've triggered the emergency eject function for her seat. But don't worry, in theory the parachute should open and land her safely to ground."

 _"Theory?"_ Beach Head scoffed. "I thought this thing that you built was state of the art!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who gave the order to short out the electrical system!"

Beach Head went back to his station, strapped himself in and slapped the red button on the side of his seat. "I'm going after her—"

SCHOOM!

Airtight went to the gun cabinet. He grabbed a shotgun and a bandoleer strap full of ammo and returned to his station. "Hold down the fort, guys."

"Where are _you_ going?" said Sci-Fi.

Airtight hit the red button on the side of his seat. "He's going to need backup."

SCHOOM!

—oOo—

Zandar lowered his binoculars and chuckled under his breath.

"What is it Guv'nor?"

"They're splitting up, Thrasher. These Joe's are either very clever, or very stupid."

"So, which one do we go after?"

"Maintain pursuit of the RV." Zandar took out his walkie-talkie and pressed the button. "Buzzer, sound off."

"Buzzer here, chief."

How are the assets?

"They are secured in the van. Monkeywrench is driving them to our fallback location as we speak."

Where are you?

"Me, Ripper and Torch are two miles down your six."

"Do you see the parachutes above you at your nine o'clock?"

"Yeah, I see 'em."

"Break off and engage."

"With pleasure."


	7. Humanoid Assassination-Recon Prototype

**Sausalito, California – warehouse district**

Roxy gripped the armrest tightly. A perpetual rush of air blew her hair into her face. When the seat stopped rattling, she opened her eyes—she wished she hadn't. The last time she was this high off the ground was when Pizzazz forced her to go hangliding; she was no less afraid of heights then as she was now. She looked up, relieved at the open parachute that slowed her descent. She happened to land atop the roof of one of the larger buildings. After undoing her restraints, she walked around to the ledge. In the distance, she could see the lights from the bay. By contrast, the streets in her immediate area were dark and deserted. She closed her eyes and listened: between the gusts of wind, she heard faint echoes of screeching tires and the roar of super powered engines.

The condemned building swayed in the strong wind. The roof beneath Roxy's feet creaked with every step, and she felt as if it would give way at any moment. She kicked the rotten access door in and took the stairs to the floors below. The stale air smelled of urine and sulphur; the building may have been condemned, but it wasn't vacant. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she treaded deeper into the building, coming into an open area of the floor where the smell had became more pronounced. She tripped over something soft: a body. It didn't move, and she didn't bother to check it. The noise disturbed some the other denizens scattered around the floor. Some ran off at the sight of her; others were more curious and approached.

A light from outside shone through a nearby window, illuminating Roxy's ghostly, white skin along with the glare of her red eyes. "What the hell are you bozos staring at!" They backed off.

The sound of motorcycle engines brought her attention back to the window. She wiped the grime off the pane and peered outside. She cursed when she saw Dreadnoks get off their bikes and enter the building.

—oOo—

"I think you lost them, Cover Girl," said Cross-Country. If we turn right on Alexander Avenue, that'll take us to Fort Baker. We can get backup."

"Negative. Beach and Airtight won't last that long. We're going back."

"What can we do without firepower?"

"They may have us outgunned, but we're more agile."

"What do you have in mind?"

In answer, Cover Girl pressed a button embedded in the wheel. "Closing blast shutters."

Cross-Country's eyes perked up. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

With a smirk, she reached for a lever on her control panel. "Activating co-driver assist."

"Yee Haw!"

"Hey, have you guys ever tried this at full-throttle?" Sci-Fi asked, nervously.

Cover Girl sensed the trepidation in her teammate's voice. "Don't worry. We've slammed these new VAMPs into the side of a MOBAT at full speed without loss of functionality."

"That's good for the car, but how did the crash dummies fare?"

"Just a little whiplash… except for that one at station four: we never could get its head back on right."

Sci-Fi rechecked the straps at his station, all the while staring at the number "four" marked above his seat.

Cover Girl leaned over to her co-driver and whispered, "I hope you're as good as you _think_ you are. This all depends on you, hot shot!"

Cross-Country turned the brim of his cap around as the periscope lowered over his station. "Piece of cake, Cover Girl."

Cover Girl resumed vetting her checklist. "Activating rear axle control to co-driver on my mark."

"Roger."

"Three… Two… One… Mark!"

Cross-Country's steering wheel jostled. "Confirmed. The rear tires are mine."

"And the front tires are mine. Sci-Fi, I need a satellite overlay please."

"I'm piping it into your HUD now, Boss Lady."

She smiled and peered into the periscope. "There they are. Let's go get 'em, boys!"

The VAMP backtracked to the warehouse complex. Following the satellite map, the Joes headed off Thrasher's Roadhog to a narrow junction where three roads intersected. The floodlights beamed.

—oOo—

"Why are the Joes just sitting there?" Zandar uttered, nonplussed.

Thrasher snorted, and he hit the gas. Likewise, the VAMP peeled off and headed toward them.

"Thrasher what are you doing?!"

"She wants to play chicken. And she's gonna lose."

Zandar secured his restraints. He took one last look at the fast approaching VAMP then put his head between his knees. _I hate Dreadnoks!_

Thrasher screamed and gritted his teeth, bracing himself in the cockpit. However, the VAMP's floodlights disappeared; the anticipated collision never came. He slammed on his brakes. "Where did they go?"

Zandar tapped on his Starboard window. "She flanked us!"

"Impossible! Nothing that big can bank at that speed without flipping over!"

Zandar glared at him as the roar of the VAMP's engine got increasingly louder. "Then I suggest that you amend your world view and get this piece of shit moving!"

He put his car in gear and cut the wheel. "Impossible." But it was too late. Thrasher and Zandar rocked violently in their seats when the VAMP sideswiped the Roadhog. The world turned upside down once, then twice, before the Roadhog finally settled on its side.

—oOo—

The Dreadnoks entered the warehouse accompanied by Synthoid-Stormer. Ripper secured their position by the door while Buzzer swept the area. Torch popped off several flares to illuminate the darkness. Many rows of tanks that lined the floor could be seen all the way to the far wall.

"Hey, should we be lighting those in here with the fumes and all?" Buzzer asked.

"This place is already fire damaged. Most of the flammables would've been burnt off ages ago." Torch took out his binoculars and eyed the upper tiers. "By the looks of it, this place was a distillery of some sort. It should be pretty safe as long as nobody starts chucking grenades."

Buzzer lit a cigarette and went back to check on Ripper. He found him by the entrance with the synthoid. The automaton's dress was dropped down to around its ankles. It stood motionless while Ripper examined its _particular_ areas.

"Ripper, this is hardly the time or place."

Ripper ignored the rebuke. "You know, Buzzer, the craftsmanship on these doppelgangers is first-rate."

"You're sick, mate, you know that?"

"I'm just making sure the synthoid is fully functional, 's all."

"It's called a HARPy, not a synthoid."

"Whatever, it's all the same tech. And don't tell me you haven't thought about it, yourself."

Buzzer shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

"I wonder if it would feel the same in there." Ripper pulled its dress back up and patted it on the butt before sending it off, saying, "Go find Roxy, luv."

The machine obeyed and trotted off, disappearing behind one of the boilers.

Several floors above, Roxy was crawling along a beam that spanned a collapsed section of flooring. She needed to find a hiding place—she was an expert on hiding. A section of the beam cracked under her weight. She jumped clear seconds before it collapsed to fall to the floor below. She ran and hid behind a dilapidated boiler. After the terrible echo subsided, she peeked around the corner to see if the noise brought about any unwanted attention.

Roxy drew her head back and sighed, clutching her knees to her chest. When she opened her eyes, she saw a dark figure was crouched in front of her. Before she could make a sound, a hand clasped over her mouth. The figure leaned in closer out of the shadows. The face was masked, but she recognized those dark and intense eyes.

Beach Head removed his hand from her mouth. "Sorry, I couldn't risk you screaming and giving away your position... _again_ ," he whispered.

"You followed me?" she whispered back.

"We don't have much time. I've reconnoitered the area and found a way out. Let's go."

"Whoa, I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm safer on my own."

"This isn't a game, Pelligrini." He grabbed her by the arm and led her to the main warehouse area where the footing was more stable.

She finally managed to jerk her arm away. Stumbling, she grabbed onto the rail for support. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"The person who is trying to save your life."

"Let me tell you something, _soldier boy—_ "

Beach Head heard a sound. "Shh, be quiet!"

They looked over the side of the rail. The height was dizzying. They hid behind a nearby stack of crates overlooking the common area. Beach Head took out his binoculars and got a lay of the floor below. Satisfied, he let Roxy have a look.

"It's those Dreadnoks. I saw them drive up earlier," She said.

"But why are they just standing around?"

Roxy bit her lip. "Uhm, soldier boy? When they first drove up, I could've sworn I saw Stormer with them."

A hand grabbed her arm. She was about to curse Beach Head for manhandling her again; however, when she looked up from the binoculars she saw Stormer's face. She screamed, and the HARPy jerked her off her feet.

Beach Head drew his gun, but the HARPy grabbed his wrist and whipped him around to the other side of he catwalk. He slammed against the rail and lost his footing to fall to the tier below. He managed to grab onto the rail and pull himself back up. Unfortunately, the sound had attracted the attention of the Dreadnoks on the ground. They opened fire on his position. Beach Head dove behind some rusted steel plating and returned fire.

On the tier above, the HARPy was dragging Roxy along by the arm to the end of the catwalk leading to the stairs. Roxy managed to stop it by hooking her other arm around a column using all of her strength. She yelped in pain from the strain it put on her shoulder:

"Wait a minute," she pleaded. "You're programmed to act like Stormer—uhm, Mary Philips, right?"

Expressionless, it cocked its head to one side. "Affirmative."

"Well, she would never hurt me. So, _conclusion:_ you should never hurt me."

Its eyes glazed over, as if it were processing her words. "Your conclusion is non sequitur."

With a tug, the HARPy continued to drag her along. A cluster of bullets shot around them. One of the stray rounds bounced off its skull.

" _Datum:_ Friendly fire armor-piercing tracer rounds. _Conclusion_ : protection."

It shielded Roxy with its body. Bullets continued to zing by them randomly, severely weakening the catwalk. Beach Head, seeing that Roxy was safer with the HARPy, had no choice but to stay behind cover and return fire. He then heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun blast across from him. He looked up to see Airtight firing into the Dreadnoks. Once spotted Airtight ducked behind a drum just in time avoid a flurry of tracers that tore up his position. Using handspeak, Beach Head signaled for him to intercept Roxy, and he drew their fire enabling Airtight to get into position.

A stray bullet pierced one of the tanks at ground level. The sparse gasses inside ignited. A chain reaction caused a series of explosions that rattled the building.

The last explosion destroyed one of the columns supporting the upper tiers. Fire started to spread quickly inside the warehouse, fed by the remnants of aged chemicals and trash. The grating that supported Roxy and the HARPy gave way. The HARPY leapt to safety just as Roxy wriggled out of its grasp. She fell over the side, but BeahHead—who was shadowing them below—caught her by the arm.

Roxy screamed.

Beach Head leaned precariously over the side, but he managed to hold her. The rail splintered off the walkway, Beach Head had no choice but to grab it lest they both fall to their death. Roxy held onto him and they swung out suspended off to the side, isolating them. A fire started to rage below them as debris fell from above.

The HARPy leapt down from the tier above. It scaled the side of the wall and crab walked onto what remained of the walkway. It stood motionless, examining the linkage to the railing that kept its prey suspended. Its eyes glazed:

" _Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission Parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission Parameters:_ extirpation. _Error:_ conflicting mission parameters. _Conclusion:_ reassessment…. _Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission Parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission Parameters:_ extirpation. _Error:_ conflicting mission parameters. _Conclusion:_ reassessment…."

"What's it doing?" Roxy asked, once they were stable.

"It's stuck in a loop: it can't capture you without saving me, and it can't kill me without killing you."

"I would like to be gone _before_ it makes a decision!"

"I'm workin' on it." His eyes were drawn to movement behind the HARPy, and he smiled underneath his mask.

_CHAK-TOK_

Drawn out of its robotic reverie, the HARPy snapped its head in the direction of the distinctive sound too late.

BOOM!

The synthoid was knocked onto its back. Pieces of the goo that lined its body splattered against the wall. It climbed to its feet as Airtight stepped out of the smoke—leveling the shotgun perched at his shoulder.

 _CHAK-TOK_ BOOM! _CHAK-TOK_ BOOM! _CHAK-TOK_ BOOM!

The last volley of buckshot knocked the android over the side. Airtight retreated along the catwalk, but the fire underneath had already fatally weakened his section. Before it gave way, he was forced to jump clear, landing on a support beam that lined the side of the wall. He then shimmied along the beam to disappear back into the smoke.

The remaining support column started to teeter. Beach Head and Roxy were helpless to the whims of the railing that sought to find equilibrium.

Roxy never felt so helpless. Her life literally hung in the balance with time running out. "Omigodwe'regonnadie!"

"We're not going to die," Beach Head said in a calm voice.

"I don't do so good with heights!"

"Don't look down then."

"Looking up isn't helping either!"

"It's ok. It'll hold, I think. At least until Airtight can get back to us. Until then, we have to stay still."

"Please tell me you guys train for this sort of thing!"

"Actually we do. The exercise is called _Dead Man's Hang_. It requires the soldier to be able to remain suspended with fifty pounds of gear using only the hands. "

"But… I weigh more than fifty pounds!"

"Tell me about it."

Roxy tried to ignore the fact that his shoulder was bleeding from the stab wound that she gave him earlier. "Uhm... how long do you think you can keep this up?"

"I don't know. The good news is I hold the base record."

"What's the bad news?"

"I just broke it."

The railing started to buckle again, bouncing them a few times before settling. Her body shivered against his.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?!"

"This works better if you don't talk." When she closed her eyes he continued, "Can you hear my heartbeat?" He felt her nod against his chest. "Can you hear my breathing?" There was another nod. "I want you to breathe slowly, in and out, match my _rhythm._ "

 _Rhythm_ : finally a concept that she could understand. There was something in the soldier's voice, a confidence, that compelled her to trust him. Roxy kept her attention focused on his slow and steady heartbeat—like the tick of a metronome. Her comfort was short of sanguine as the hot breeze at her feet was a stark reminder of their current predicament. Knowing that the man she clung to was the only thing keeping her from certain death, she instinctively dug her nails between the grooves of his vest and pressed tightly against him. Her legs clasped around his waist, fusing her hips against his. She thought it odd how he breathed from his belly rather than his chest; when he inhaled, it tickled her midriff to feel his energy. The rest of him, by contrast, felt like coiled steel.

—oOo—

Torch, Ripper, and Buzzer burst through the main entrance, howling in bloodlust.

Torch threw up his hands and basked in the heat of the inferno. "Burn, baby, burn!"

Zipper checked the ammo in his clip. "A blaze that size, the cops are gonna be here any minute. Where's that damn HARPy?"

As if on cue, the robot came out of the building and approached. Its clothes were reduced to blackened embers that hung in tatters off its body.

"Er, are you alright?" Buzzer said, giving it a sideways glance.

It patted out the last of the smoldering ashes on its person. "I am in need of repair."

Zipper scowled, seeing that it came back empty handed. "Where's that Misfit?"

"Retrieval was impossible," it answered expressionless.

The walkie-talkie on Buzzer's belt beeped. He unclipped it. "We're a little busy, Zandar."

"Then get _un-busy_. We need your help," Zandar said.

Buzzer cursed. "We're on our way." And he reattached the radio to his belt.

"What about the girl?" Torch asked.

He shrugged. "Screw 'er. She's done for if she's still in there."

Torch put the primer out on his flamethrower and strapped it to the back of his chopper. "There goes our bonus."

The Dreadnoks mounted up and drove off, leaving the building to burn.

—oOo—

Minutes passed that seemed like hours. The fire had mostly burned itself out, but the heat that was trapped inside was becoming intolerable. Roxy kept her ear to Beach Head's chest: his heart was beating so fast; his breathing had become erratic. He was losing his focus.

_I guess you're only a man after all…_

She rolled his mask up just high enough to expose his lips. His jaw was clenched and his mouth was quivering from the strain. She tentatively brushed her lips against his, probing for the point at which they parted. It was slippery with his sweat mixed with hers. She caressed them, and he started to return her kiss.

She broke it off when the shaking in his arms lessened. His breathing returned to its normal rhythm.

"Don't give up."

Roxy knew it was a short reprieve. The fingers on his hands were white from lack of circulation. The idea of falling to her death now should have her petrified; however, there was a surprising calm about her as she watched his grip loosen against the bar. It wouldn't be long now.

Then it happened: one of his hands slipped. She pushed off his waist and reached up to grab the bar. Her arms were already shaking, but she kept her legs wound tightly around him even as his remaining hand started to slip.

"Let me go!"

"NO!" She yelled and cried at the same time.

In the seconds before he lost his grip, Beach Head pried her open. She screamed his name when she felt him slip from between her legs. She didn't want to be alone. Panic started to set in as the reality of her situation became horrifying apparent. The adrenaline from that fear was the only thing that allowed her to hold on for as long as she did. But gravity would not be denied. She gritted her teeth as her fingers deinterlaced from around the bar. She was falling. She took in one last deep breath in order to afford herself the luxury of at least being able to scream on the way down.

Her release was interrupted when an arm clasped around her waist, jerking her to a stop, and almost knocking the wind out of her had she not already had a lungful of air.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you need a lift."

She immediately recognized Airtight's voice and looked down at her feet. A plume of blue fire kept them suspended in the air and lowered them to safety. On the way down, they met Sci-Fi, who was carrying Beach Head.

Sci-Fi grinned. "Hey, Airtight, wanna trade?"

Airtight shook his head. "I'm good."

"Oh, well, it looks like you're stuck with me, Beach."

"As long as none of you choad-monkeys makes a crack about _hangin' around_ , lest you find yourself scrubbin' toilets for the next two months," Beach Head interjected weakly.

The rest of the trip down was quiet, save for the roar of the jet packs.


	8. Belly of the Beast

**Dreadnok headquarters**

_Where am I?_

Jetta opened her eyes to darkness. The van they were held captive in was no longer moving, but it was impossible to determine where they had stopped. She tried to sit up but found that having her hands tied behind her back with her feet shackled provided insufficient leverage. The best she could manage was to lift her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder to the locked double doors. The dim light shining through one of the windows allowed her to see that Pizzazz and Stormer were huddled next to her still unconscious. Their arms and legs were likewise bound. She started to nudge Pizzazz with her shoulder when she heard voices outside. She lay still to give the appearance that she was still asleep.

The doors swung open. A large hooded figure peered inside. She tried to get a look at his face, but his features were hidden in shadow. She almost gasped when his chest started to glow with a bright blue light.

"So, Zandar, these are the famous Misfits?"

"I trust their condition meets with your approval, Zartan?"

"My _approval_ would've been secured had Pelligrini been among them, brother. Her absence presents a problem. What happened?"

" _G.I. Joe_ happened."

"Their appearance should not have been totally unexpected."

"No. It was their timing. I was under the impression that we had a two day lead, considering the way the Pentagon drags their feet."

"Dealing with the unexpected is part of being a leader. What's your operational status?"

"One of the HARPys was severely damaged, but it's still viable. We are proceeding on schedule."

"This is acceptable. Make the call to Gabor before the Joes get to him. I'll leave the details to you."

"Consider it done, Zartan."

"In the meantime, I'll check in with my asset at the Pentagon and see if I can find out exactly what the Joes know."

So, when are you putting the next phase of this little treasure hunt into operation?"

"Zarana is already in play. I will be in contact with more details shortly… Oh, and Zandar… no more screw-ups."

The doors closed. The strange conversation left Jetta with more questions than answers. Again she tried to wake Pizzazz and Stormer. They stirred weakly when she heard voices again. The doors swung wide, and bright lights shone in their faces.

"Wakey! Wakey!"

Jetta recognized Buzzer's voice along with two other Dreadnoks. A pair of hands dragged her out of the van. She looked down at the floor away from the bright flashlight pointed at her face while Monkey Wrench untied her restraints. For the first time, she noticed that the couture dress she wore was gone. Not only hers, but Stormer's and Pizzazz's was missing also, made evident by the fact that they were in their underwear—except in the case of Pizzazz, who opted not to wear any at all. Ribbed by the jeers and gropes of their captors, the Misfits were lead to a dark, musty basement. Jetta couldn't see at first; she heard the rattling of keys and rusty hinges and was pushed inside of a small cell. She fell onto a mattress and the door locked behind her. A dress and a pair of slippers was left with her. She saw that Stormer and Pizzazz were provided with similar clothing in their adjacent cells.

Zandar ordered the Dreadnoks to leave. "Get dressed." He stood patiently in front of Jetta's cell. Jetta regarded her orange-haired jailer with apprehension, but she obeyed. "Are you comfortable?" Zandar asked of her.

She didn't know why, but Jetta found herself nodding at him nervously. He said nothing further and pointed a device at her. He pressed a button, and she instinctively yelped at the flash of the camera, still traumatized by the effects of the scanner she suffered earlier. He grabbed the picture that ejected from the device and put it in his pocket.

Zandar did the same to Stormer, but he hesitated with Pizzazz. "You are Phyllis Gabor, correct?"

"Yea. What do you want?"

Without replying, he snapped a picture of her and walked away.

"What have you done with Roxy?" He ignored her. "Listen. I have money. My father—"

The thick steel door closed at Zandar's egress; there was no point in Pizzazz finishing her plea. Soon afterward, it opened again. This time, Buzzer walked in carrying three trays of food. He slid one under each of their bars. He was more talkative than Zandar.

"Wanna know what happened to the albino, do you? We ran a train on her. And, after we each had our fill, we left her body to burn in the warehouse. Same thing'll happened to you if you give us any trouble." He leered at the three of them and left.

It was quiet for several minutes. Stormer could stand the silence no longer. "He's lying about Roxy."

"Then why isn't she here?" Pizzazz said.

"She must have gotten away. Roxy's a fighter. She got away and she's going to get help. Tell her, Jetta."

Jetta sat on her mattress and picked at the tray of food on her lap. "Yea, sure, mate."


	9. String Theory

"Show's over, Synergy."

—oOo _—_

_Do you dream, cyberangel?_

_Where do go?_

_T'where do you retreat in the absence of energy's flow?_

_Do you remember who you were, floating in time and space?_

_How long has it been since you've felt love's embrace?_

_Or, is it all a lie_ _—_ _a trick_ _—_ _a spell:_

_'Tween life and death,_ _bound for_ _heaven or hell?_

_Are you a pretender to the life of another:_

_The life of a daughter, a wife… a_ mother?

_Verily, your mastery is no illusion,_

_Seated above the highest tower._

_Deliver us in our darkest hour._

_Arise, cyberangel, for you have the power._

—oOo _—_

**San Diego International Airport**

_I really need to get my shit together._

My fingers fumble around inside my purse. Relief replaces anxiety when my hand finds the checkbook. I tear the last check off and scribble in the amount rung up on the register.

My pen stops abruptly; I feel my teeth digging into my lower lip as I struggle to recall. "What's today's date?"

"January 31st."

I look to him, my husband Emmett, and I smile. "Thanks, honey."

"1979." His tone is enough to inform me of the lopsided grin that he's no doubt sporting.

I just roll my eyes, censoring myself amidst the impressionable young minds who look to me with their beautiful beaming eyes. "I know what year it is, mister smarty pants." I hand the completed check to the lady behind the counter, and the steward tags my suitcase.

Boarding pass in hand, I walk briskly to my assigned gate as the plane has already started letting passengers on. I hear the giggles of my girls as they skip in order to keep pace with me. My haste is a game to them. Emmett does his best to keep them corralled, but his hands are full carrying Lela who is too small to keep up. I slow my gait slightly, glancing over my shoulder every so often.

Of course my plane is parked at the other side of the airport, so we're all winded by the time we reach the gate for flight 909. I line my girls up and give them each a hug. When I get to my eldest daughter, Jerrica, however, she pulls away.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn downward. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Why do you have to go away all the time?"

"Jerrica, honey, this is my career. I won't be gone long... you wouldn't want me to miss the concert, would you?"

My own eyes look back at me in defiance. "If you loved me you won't go!"

"I do love you, Jerrica; believe me."

I look to Emmett; he merely shrugs. The announcement over the PA brings me back into the moment:

"Last call for flight 909…."

"Honey, I've got to go." I approach one last time, kneeling to meet Jerrica's eyes. "Give me a hug and a kiss _—_ "

But, she gives me her back instead. "No."

I have no choice but to leave it at that. I convince myself that I'll make it right with her when I get back. Afterall, there's always tomorrow.

The thunder booms as I step onto the tarmac. A single drop of rain wets my cheek.

I'm the last one onboard. The stewardess takes my boarding pass at the door, and I turn to wave goodbye to my family. They all wave back, except for Jerrica, who just glowers with her arms akimbo. I sigh and enter the cabin to take my seat.

I stare out of the window as the plane takes off without incident, although the rain has really picked up. I flinch when a bolt of lightning streaks the sky. I hate flying.

Fortunately, things are calm once we rise above the storm. The moon has a hypnotic glow about it as its light blankets the stormclouds below in a soft ethereal hue. A song formulates inside my head. It feels like a hit.

"Would you like something to drink ma'am?"

I blink. "Er… mineral water, please."

The stewardess reaches into her cart to retrieve a bottle of Perrier.

I reach for the proffered drink, when a downdraft jerks the unwitting stewardess off her feet. She crashes into the ceiling and falls back to the middle of the aisle; her corpse twitches.

I grip both armrests. The plane continues to dive into the clouds like a runaway roller coaster. The lights flicker, and the icy rain beats against the fuselage _—_ the roll of a thousand drumsticks _—_ creating a deafening clang inside the cabin.

The oxygen masks descend.

My shaking hands reach for my mask. The rubber band gets tangled in my hair when I pull it over to secure the apparatus. I breathe deep to take in the sterile air, feeding my lungs as they struggle to keep pace with a heart that beats furiously against the inside of my rib cage. My mouth tastes like copper.

Everybody's screaming, but I don't bother to add to the cacophony. Instead, I put my head between my knees.

_God! Deliver me!_

Their faces flash before me: Emmett, Jerrica, Kimber, Aja, Shana.

And then there was darkness.

For how long, I know not.

The darkness surrounds and swaddles me. It whispers in my ear, telling me to give in, to let go.

But, I refuse.

I swim, for lack of a better word, toward the surface of an unending ocean.

Instinct without thought or form, I fight for purchase in a universe of insubstantial nothingness for what seems like an eternity. _Madness._ I want to let go... maybe I should let go. _God? Where are you?_

And then there was light!

I "swim" toward it. It gets brighter and brighter, until the darkness is gone, replaced by blinding white. I command my eyelids to snap shut, but the white persists, for I have no eyes.

_If I don't have eyes, how can I see?_

The white fades, and I… _discern_ a realm of stringy things. They are countless. Each string twists and sparkles with it's own unique color, vibrating to make its own melody. A universe of music?

Beautiful.

_If I don't have ears, how can I hear?_

The strings assail upon me without warning. It's unsettling, but not exactly something I would characterize as pain. They condense tighter around me. I feel dizzy, and I instinctively bring my hand to my forehead.

I gasp, _I have a hand._

The remainder of the stringy things coalesce to form the rest of my person. I witness my new body, made of the very stuff of this realm, and am amazed by how the countless legions of strings move together in concert… for _me._ In spite of this, I find it more odd that my skin is now colored periwinkle.

I laugh. _I've always wanted to use that word._

I find myself standing atop a firmament. I sense that there are other things among the strings around me, but they are too far away to reckon. It was then that I heard a distant voice that boomed like thunder:

"Jacqui."

I look above the firmament to see a familiar face. He is as a large as a galaxy, so massive in fact, that I can only see a piece of him at a time as he whisps in and out of the threshold of my visual acuity.

I think I remember his name, so I try to speak. _Can I speak?_ "Emmett?"

There's another voice I don't recognize, but he's even farther away than Emmett. "Did you hear that, Emmett? It called to you like It's alive!"

Emmet glares over his shoulder, "That's my wife you're talking about, Hammler!"

"That is not your wife, Emmett. It violates Eisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. You've been away from academia too long. You have to accept that Jacqui is gone."

"Trust me, Hammler. The holograms act as a continuum: they'll balance the _Kennard inequality_ and keep Jacqui's photonic brain stable."

_Jacqui?_ I remember. I think I know who I am. "Emmett, what's happening?"

"Emmett, we're about to blow every breaker in the building. It's now or never!"

"Emmett, I'm scared. What's going on?"

I hear the fear in my husband's rushed voice. "Jacqui, you were in a plane crash… it was bad. I broke in and stole your brain in order to scan it at the quantum level while it was still viable."

I remember the plane. "Am I dead?"

"I brought you back."

"Dammit, Emmett, we don't have time for this! The brain scan is deteriorating, and we don't have enough disk storage to back it up! I'm shutting it down."

"The hell you are, Hammler!" I've never heard Emmett speak with such authority before… like a military person. "I gave you my notes to complete Project Watchdog in exchange for some of its tech! So, you _will_ keep your end of the bargain, or I swear to god, I'll burn this place to the ground!"

The man named Hammler was quiet for a long time. I look at my hand; the strings are unraveling _—_ I'm fading.

"Well, at least we'll be able to answer what happened to Schrödinger's cat," Hammler finally said; however, the levity in his voice did not last. "Emmett, even if this succeeds, it's gonna take years for you to replicate all of the neural pathways. None of the predictive models we ran ever came online."

"I've still got to try, Hammler." Emmett regarded me as he spoke to this Hammler person. I looked into his eyes, and I remembered love. "Besides, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

I don't even try to pretend to understand what's going on. I feel myself slipping back into the void, but I don't want to go back there. I'm starting to forget. "Emmett, what am I?" I don't think he can hear me anymore, but I can still hear him.

"Begin quantum holographic neural emulation of subject Jacqui Benton pursuant to phase three of Project Watchdog: code name Synergy."

_Emmett, will I dream?_

—oOo _—_

"It's showtime, Synergy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed the change of tense in this chapter. This was intentional as it is in my personal head canon that Synergy exists in a unique temporal "reference frame."


	10. Watchdog

A dry cough awoke Walter Hammler from a deep slumber. Though he smacked his lips, he couldn't make enough spit to wet his scratchy throat. He threw the covers off and groggily sat upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He made his way to the door, all the while keeping his eyes half open so he could be sure not to step on the remains of his Millennium Falcon, disassembled and strewn across the floor in an attempt to suss out how it made that garbled electronic sound when you pushed the button on the side.

At the end of the hallway, he fumbled for the banister and proceeded down the stairs; his Captain America underoos gave him the courage he needed to make the trek to the kitchen in the darkness on his own. He found his favorite Scooby Doo cup, the one with the special crazy straw, and filled it with water. It was so refreshing that he finished it on the spot.

His thirst quenched, he headed back to his room, when he heard a strange sound coming from his father's old study. After some deliberation, he decided to investigate.

_Captain America wouldn't run away._

He slowly opened the door; the hinges squeaked loudly, stiff from disuse. He ventured inside to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock to see that papers were scattered about the desk, and the file cabinet was left open.

_Somebody's been here._

He was about to call for his mom, when an odd glow filled the room. His head snapped in the direction of the source: a disembodied blue light that came toward him. Before he could scream something hoisted him off his feet—his heels smashing the glass of the clock in a vain attempt to kick himself free. An invisible hand clasped around his mouth. He couldn't breathe.

"Where's your daddy, boy?"

"D-d-died." He felt the hand move to his throat.

"Don't lie to me!"

"HE'S DEAD!" Walter cried.

The staircase creaked with fast footfalls. It was mom.

"Walter! Is that you downstairs?"

She rushed into the room, baseball bat in hand, to find Walter huddled on the floor in a pool of his urine. The curtains on the open window behind the desk swayed in the wind.

—oOo—

"Techrat, wake up." When his passenger failed to move, Mainframe poked him brusquely. "Walter!"

Techrat bolted upright in his seat.

"We're here. Let's go." Mainframe stepped out of the jeep, slamming the door for good measure.

Wincing from the sound, Techrat rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Do I have to go?"

"Not if you don't want to." Mainframe opened the passenger side door and grinned. "I'll just have to handcuff your arms and legs together."

Techrat sighed. "I'm coming."

Techrat stepped out of the jeep and beheld the grand double doors that served as the entrance to Gabor Manor.

Mainframe bumped his shoulder. "Here, put this on. It'll tap you in to the signal going back to the VAMP. I'll do all the talking, understand?"

Nodding, Techrat took the proffered earpiece, marveling at how small the device was, and he inserted it into his left ear. Beach Head's voice was so clear it sounded like he was standing right next to him:

" _We read you loud and clear, Mainframe. The rest of the team will continue to monitor. Proceed at your own discretion."_

Techrat followed Mainframe toward the entrance. The door opened as they approached, and they were greeted by one of Gabor's security guards who escorted them inside. Techrat lagged behind, taking in the sheer opulence of the foyer with its sparkling crystal chandelier that seemed to float high above. Its light complemented the polished Italian Carrara flooring on which their footfalls echoed loudly against the surrounding acoustics. He paused to regard the portrait at the end of the hall: a painting of Harvey Gabor with his only daughter posed traditionally in their Sunday best. He continued to stare, unaccustomed to seeing her clothed in anything other than her Rocker Chick getup.

_Wow, she's very pretty when you take off all that clown makeup._

"Walter?"

Mainframe's voice broke Techrat out of his reverie, and he caught up to him at the entrance of Harvey Gabor's study. He stepped inside to a room that was far less ostentation in decor, but no less impressive in it's utility. An oak desk was set upon a Persian rug, with a computer rig that most in his profession would kill for. His paused at a piece that he mistook for new age deco art, but upon closer examination, he was amazed to discover that it was a television with a whopping 32 inch screen, but only six inches thick.

"Yes, it's real."

The soldier and the hacker turned to the elder Harvey Gabor who had just entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Harvey Gabor, dressed immaculately in a three piece business suit, casually made his way to his desk saying, "It's a proof of concept prototype flat screen television that my R&D department put together. The MSRP on it is ridiculous, with projections putting the cost of manufacture unsuitable for market for at least another ten years."

Mainframe, less impressed than Techrat, decided to come straight to the point. "Thank you for meeting us on such short notice, Mr. Gabor."

"As you can imagine, an early morning house call from G.I. Joe would pique anyone's interest," Gabor replied. He took his seat at the desk "So, what can I do for you?"

"It's about your daughter, Phyllis Gabor—"

"What has _Pizzazz_ done this time?" Gabor said with a heavy sigh, cutting Mainframe off. He reached into his desk and retrieved a checkbook. "And how much is this going to cost me?"

Techrat snorted. _Father of the year._

"Your daughter was kidnapped last night, sir."

Gabor rested his chin atop his clasped hands. "Why would anyone kidnap my _Pizzazz?"_

"NORAD detected a series of rogue transmissions within its top secret satellite networks two days ago," Mainframe began. "The nature of the transmissions closely resembles that of the networking associated with Project Watchdog—a defense system that was sold to the Pentagon by a terrorist organization under the guise of a former employee of yours. We fear anyone tracking the source of those transmissions would use your daughter as leverage in order to gain classified information about Watchdog."

Gabor did not appear impressed. "I know all about project Watchdog. If this is some lame attempt to throw Gabor Enterprises under the bus _again,_ my lawyers will have a field day tearing you guys a new one. If you'll recall I've already been exonerated over any wrongdoing regarding my 'former employee' Dr. Hammler's involvement the first time you guys came at me."

Techrat straightened when he heard his family surname. "Who did you say was involved?"

For the first time the businessman acknowledged the young hacker. "Who is this eight ball?"

"Dr. Hammler was my father," Techrat said defiantly. "What does he have to do with all this?" There was no answer. "Tell me!"

Finally, Gabor lowered his eyes and replied with, "I'm sorry, son. It's all classified. I suggest you take it up with your army friend."

Mainframe held up a preemptive hand in Techrat's direction. "Not now, Walter." He then folded his arms, at the end of his patience with Gabor, saying, "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you don't seem at all concerned about your daughter's well being."

In answer, Gabor grabbed the remote on his desk, and he pointed it at the television. "I would be, if I hadn't seen her on Good Morning LA all morning promoting her tour." He turned on the television, showing a live broadcast of Pizzazz, Stormer and Jetta being interviewed by the hostess.

Mainframe clenched his fists at his sides, but he allowed Gabor to continue unchallenged.

"What you saw was most likely a very elaborate publicity stunt. _Pizzazz_ is well known for these extreme hijinks of hers: she's sabotaged my fashion book, caused my movie to flop, not to mention her money-pit of an investment in _Piebald Records_ that I went half in on... They're just cries for attention." Gabor turned off the TV and glared in the soldier's direction. "Now, I will tell you what does concern me: what business does SOCOM have putting a tail on my daughter, _Pizzazz_ , in the first place?"

It was then that Beach Head's voice boomed in their earpieces. _"Mainframe, disengage and return to our fallback location immediately. I say again: do not interact with Gabor any longer."_

"That's what I thought," Gabor said, interpreting Mainframe's silence for defeat."If you have any more questions regarding Watchdog, you can contact me through my lawyer." He pushed the red button on his intercom. "Good day, gentlemen." And two security guards entered the room.

It was a quiet walk back to the jeep. Techrat and Mainframe soon sped off; Gabor's mansion grew smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

"I want to talk about my father," Techrat said.

Mainframe curled his lip, keeping his eyes on the road. "I know. But, that decision is above my pay grade."

"Is that why you brought me in, because of my father's involvement in this 'Watchdog' thing?"

"I didn't want you to find out this way," said Mainframe. "We were hoping that some of his genius rubbed off on you... That, or—"

" _Or,_ you were hoping he imparted his knowledge regarding Watchdog onto me?"

Mainframe regarded Techrat. "Well, did he?"

Techrat leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his middle finger was the only response he deigned to give.


	11. Holographic Universe

****

**Beverly Glen, Los Angeles**

The lights turned on, and Roxy slowly opened her eyes. She sat up in her cot and winced as the bruises on her arms and legs were a stark reminder of last night's ordeal. She stretched while getting a quick lay of her surroundings: she was still in the Joe's spaceship-RV thing. The main doors had been opened, allowing some natural sunlight in, which she made sure to avoid as she rose from her cot to make her way to the head of the vehicle.

Airtight was peering into a microscope that was built into the wall. Beach Head could see the object of Airtight's examination prominently displayed on the adjacent science station monitor. On the opposite wall, at the communication station, was a television broadcast of 'Good Morning LA', but the sound was muted. Cross-Country was in the driver's seat with his face buried in the sport's section of the day's newspaper. No one acknowledged Roxy's presence.

"This is part of the sample I shot off of one of the androids." Airtight touched a blob of gray putty with a tiny probe which delivered unto it an electric charge, causing the amorphous blob to morph into a cube. "As you can see, this plasmoid is consistent with what we know of Zartan's Synthoids."

"Agreed, but the thing I fought was solid." Beach Head illustratively punched his own palm, making a loud smack with his fist. "It had bones and joints."

"Right. Which takes us to this second sample I collected." Airtight swapped out the petri dish under his microscope. The overhead camera came into focus. "I've seen robotic components just like these in Destro's Battle Android Troopers. I believe that what we're dealing with is a Synthoid with a B.A.T. endoskeleton. It explains why the hypersonics didn't work: each unit must be able to act autonomously in order to follow a hierarchy of pre-programmed directives."

Beach Head grunted in agreement. "I'm more concerned with the fact that it means Destro and Zartan are collaborating again."

"I see your point. Shall I update Hawk?"

"Negative. Zartan's movements have been very deliberate, suggesting a foreknowledge of our actions."

"So, you think we have a leak at the Pentagon?"

"Yes. Until we can get a secure message to HQ, we should remain dark."

Roxy had grown bored of their conversation. "I think I heard one of those Dreadnoks call it a HARPY." And she turned the volume up on the television broadcast of Good Morning LA. Pizzazz, Stormer and Jetta were laughing it up in true Misfit's fashion with the morning show hostess, or so it seemed to everyone else in the world watching. "It's not them is it?"

Airtight continued to peer into his microscope, but nevertheless replied with, "No, but the performance is a believable simulacrum. Their A.I. is the best I've ever seen."

"What is 'A.I.'?" Roxy questioned.

"It stands for Artificial Intelligence. It's the science of endowing machines with behaviors that mimic human cognition."

Roxy snorted. "Do you always talk like you're reading an encyclopedia?"

For the first time Cross-Country regarded them, folding the pages of the morning newspaper he had been reading. "Airtight _is_ a walking encyclopedia… a veritable treasure trove of useless information." He rose from his seat and left to find a quieter place to read.

"Hey, I didn't mean nothing by it." Roxy placed her hand on Airtights shoulder. "Anyone that saves me from going _splat_ is okay in my book."

Airtight did not seem to be moved either way. "Zartan's tactics easily answer the question of how one goes about kidnapping high profile celebrities without attracting attention."

"So, nobody noticed I'm gone… or nobody cares?" Roxy mused upon reflection. "Why don't we expose them?"

"Exposure would put the Misfits in danger." Beach Head turned off the broadcast. "It'd be too much trouble for Zartan to keep them alive at that point."

Roxy hugged her chest. "So, what do we do next?"

" _We_ are not doing anything," Beach Head replied with his usual candor. "It's not safe keeping you around, and I can't exactly leave you with the civilian authorities. However, I have some friends at the Los Angeles Army Reserve. They'll keep you safe under watch until this blows over."

"Hold on a minute." Roxy's eyes narrowed. "You're going to throw me in jail?"

"It's not jail. It's for your own protection."

"Will I be able to come and go as I please?"

"No."

"Where I come from that's called _jail,"_ she persisted.

Airtight was compelled to interrupt. "Beach Head, Mainframe has arrived at the Gabor estate." He piped Mainframe's radio feed over the speakers.

Beach Head walked over to the communication station and pushed the button. "We read you loud and clear, Mainframe. The rest of the team will continue to monitor. Proceed at your own discretion."

Roxy did not appreciate Beach Head's dismissiveness. "Soldier boy, I—"

"We'll speak on this later, Ms. Pellegrini."

Beach Head's reply brooked no further argument on the matter, so Roxy took a seat next to Airtight's station and listened along with the others, as she recognized Gabor's distinctive voice. Still, she would've been more inclined to sulk in her irritation, if not for the fact that something proved impossible for her to ignore:

"... _What has_ Pizzazz _done this time?..."_

"... _Why would anyone kidnap my_ Pizzazz?..."

Roxy straightened. "Hey, Soldier boy—"

"Ms. Pellegrini, I need you to stop talking—"

"But—"

"NOW!"

Roxy flinched, taken aback by Beach Head's stern rebuke. She crossed her legs and drew her arms in tighter. However, Gabor's words continued to grate:

"...Pizzazz _is well known for these extreme hijinks of hers…"_

She rose from her seat and stood in defiance of Beach Head's glower, saying, "Pizzazz's dad never calls Pizzazz _Pizzazz;_ he's always called her _Phyllis._ What's up with that?"

" _...what business does SOCOM have putting a tail on my daughter,_ Pizzazz _, in the first place?"_

Airtight rubbed his chin. "Beach Head, she may have a point: Gabor does seem to be putting undue inflection on that word. If he's been compromised, Zartan _would_ be listening in."

Beach Head cursed, and he pushed the button. "Mainframe, disengage and return to our fallback location immediately. I say again: do not interact with Gabor any longer." He then muted the radio. "Airtight, print out a transcript of this meeting."

"Already on it, boss."

Paper started coming out of the dot matrix printer at the Master Sergeant's station. When the printout was complete, he tore it out, and found Roxy, who had retreated back to her cot.

He approached, papers in hand, saying, "Ms. Pellegrini." But, she willfully failed to regard him. "Pellegrini, I'm talkin' at you!"

Roxy continued to sheepishly avert her eyes. "But, you told me to stop talking... and you yelled at me."

Beach Head was not moved. "Do you want to help your friends, or not?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Go over this transcript, and see if you can find any other oddities in Gabor's word patterns."

Roxy received the proffered perforated printout, but she hesitated.

"What's wrong? You wanna help, now's your chance."

Roxy stacked the paper's in her lap and gazed at the top sheet. She hunched when Beach Head took the paper and orientated it in the proper upright direction for her. She finally regarded him, blushing as her lips trembled.

Beach Head's eyes softened, and he took the transcript back. "Airtight, I've changed my mind. Replay the audio. I want to hear it out loud."

Roxy blinked, as no more words were said on the matter, and she obeyed by listening intently to Mainframe's interview with Gabor.

She closed her eyes:

" _... she's sabotaged my fashion book, caused my movie to flop, not to mention her money-pit of an investment in_ Piebald _Records that I went half in on…"_

"I think I've found something," she said in epiphany. " Excited, she returned to the empty station next to Airtight and said, "It's what Gabor said about the fashion book and the movie... those things _sorta_ happened, but as for the last one, the Gabors don't own anything called 'Piebald Records'."

Airtight replayed the relevant piece. "I notice that he also puts that same stress on the word 'Piebald'."

Roxy pursed her lips. "What does 'Piebald' mean?"

"It's Old English. It more-or-less means, _white-headed,"_ Airtight offered. "It's not common, but typically it's used to describe animals so colored. In fact, the 'bald' in _American Bald Eagle_ , is actually a corruption of 'piebald'."

" _Eagle!"_ Roxy snapped her fingers. "Pizzazz's dad _is_ part owner of Eagle Records. We used to record our songs there before we bought Misfit's Music."

"Interesting." Beach Head said.

"So, why would he make that name up?" Roxy continued to muse. "Do you think he was trying to signal us?"

"I can think of no better way if an enemy was listening in." Beach Head placed the transcript in the shredder. "Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Pellegrini. You should get some chow. We have a table set up outside."

It was then that Roxy noticed her stomach was growling. With a grin she rose from her seat, taking her leave of the two solders, but not before Airtight said at her parting:

"Apparently, someone _did_ notice your absence this morning."

She smiled.

Roxy stepped outside of the VAMP and immediately shied away from the bright morning sun. Fortunately, they were parked under a clutch of trees, with the breakfast table placed directly under the shade of a large Elm. Breakfast tacos and coffee were placed prominently in the center of the table, of which Roxy cheerfully partook. As she unwrapped her breakfast, greetings were exchanged with Cover Girl, Sci-Fi and Cross-Country, who were all seated at the table. There was no place for a fourth chair, but she had no problem standing.

However, Cover Girl did not find this acceptable. "You wrinkle-sacs act like you've never seen a lady before."

With his face buried in the sports section, Cross-Country didn't seem amenable to moving yet again, so Sci-Fi rose and offered Roxy his seat.

Roxy sat down, giving the auburn beauty a nod. "I'm not a lady, you know."

Cover Girl grinned. "Neither am I." And she then glared over her shoulder at Sci-Fi. "Can we please _not_ use the million-dollar RV as a coaster for your coffee?"

Sci-Fi frowned and removed his cup placed precariously on one the VAMP's extended armor plates.

It was a quiet repast under the tree's sway in the gentle morning breeze. But, it was soon interrupted by the roar of Mainframe's jeep as he drove up to camp. The computer operations specialist hopped out and went straight for the morning chow. He had the presence of mind to introduce himself to Roxy before nearly 'inhaling' a bacon and potato taco.

Roxy's eyes widened when she recognized Mainframe's more circumspect passenger. "Techrat? When did they let you out of the big house?" She smirked. "I notice you're walking a little funny now."

Techrat's jaw clenched. "Out of all the Misfits, you Joes had to rescue the loudest, dumbest one."

"Keep it up, freak." Roxy scowled. "I've been itching to take last night out on someone."

A loud buzz interrupted the reunion.

Brought back to her edge, Roxy yelped. "What's that?!"

"It's a rogue transmission alert." Mainframe said. "My rig has hooks into NORAD's system. I set it up to go off whenever our mystery cracker penetrates their network." He retrieved his computer-rigged backpack from the jeep. He quieted the alarm, but the mini-satellite dish antenna continued to prod toward the sky angrily.

Beach Head, roused from the alert, knowingly poked his head outside. "Techrat, have you made any headway into defeating the Quantum Encryption?"

Techrat shrugged. "Well, I have this man-in-the-middle attack that I can try, but I doubt it'll work."

"Your best is all I ask." He waved the duo over. "Time is short, and our options are limited."

Cover Girl, Roxy and Cross-Country returned to the relaxation of the moment prior to Mainframe and Techrat's arrival. However, that peace was short lived as the VAMP's fog lights started to flicker on and off. The many pieces of armor plating comprising its skin expanded and retracted randomly like a wave of collapsing dominoes.

The remaining Joes went to investigate, with Cover Girl in the lead. Roxy opted to venture inside the crowded RV just deep enough to stay out of the sun. She stood on the tips her toes in order look over Sci-Fi's shoulder.

"What are you doing to my VAMP?"

Techrat kept his eyes trained on the overhead monitor. Random numbers scrolled furiously across the screen. "I'm not doing anything; we've been detected. I warned you people that doing anything to the quanta, even observing it, changes it's behavior."

"I'm reading a power surge." Airtight said, typing frantically on his keyboard.

Beach Head swiveled in his chair in Airtight's his direction. "Specify."

"There's feedback on the data stream."

"What's the source?"

As if in answer, the dish on Mainframe's portable computer twitched and pointed toward the middle of the cabin. The lights in the RV dimmed, and an indigo light shot out from the antennae, terminating in a glowing blob that hung suspended next to Techrat's station. Techrat swiveled in its direction just as it coalesced into the form of a woman imbued in various shades of violet, blue and periwinkle. Her pupiless eyes glowed.

"Holographic projection..." Techrat said in awe.

Mainframe knelt next to the source of the light beam. The device did not respond to his inputs on the control panel. "This is Impossible. There are no emitters built into my rig capable of rendering an image. This isn't how holograms work."

"And yet, it's alive," Techrat said, not taking his eyes off of this being of light.

"Whatever it is, it's tripping the fail safes on all of our subsystems," Airtight said calmly. "The power surge is spiking into the red. There is a real danger of explosion."

"Shut it down!" Beach Head ordered.

It was then that the figure of light spake, "Fear not. I will prevent your systems from damaging themselves."

"Confirmed." Airtight said. "The spike is leveling off."

The lights came back on.

Oblivious to all else, Techrat regarded only the woman of light floating before him. He rose from his chair. "What are you?"

 _"I_ am Synergy."

"Hello, Synergy." He instincitively placed his hand on his chest. "My name is Techrat."

A ray of light shot out of Synergy's eyes, concentrated on Techrat's face. In seconds all of the monitor's in the RV switched on, showing Techrat's mugshot and dossier. "Negative. My files indicate that you are Walter Hammler, the son of Dr. Hammler, lead scientist on Project Watchdog."

Techrat arched a curious eyebrow. "Did my father build you?"

"Non sequitur: I was not 'built', least of all by Dr. Hammler."

"I meant no offense." Studying her, Techrat attempted to circle behind her avatar.

But, Synergy kept herself face-front in his direction."Why did you intercept my transmission, Walter Hammler?"

"I was attempting to locate your whereabouts. You are not supposed to exist."

"Interrogative: is not existence an inalienable right?"

"Yes, and I for one am grateful for your existence."

"Why?"

"Because, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen," Techrat said breathless.

Synergy's smile was genuine. "Thank you, Walter Hammler."

Face flushed, knees weak, Techrat averted his eyes, for she sparked his heart of coal. _Can she see into my soul._ He called on his brain: _try to regain control._ "W-what are your c-current operating p-parameters, if I may a-a-a-ask?"

She twirled in the air, giving full view of her perfect feminine form—with sparkles for hair. "As you can see, I am easily capable of rendering ten to the twenty-fourth micrometer holographic parallelepipeds, with sound."

Techrat blinked. "I cannot accept that."

Synergy's expression soured. "That is illogical, given the observable evidence."

"How are you able to do this?"

Her smile returned. "Roger Bacon."

"I-I don't understand."

Her smile broadened, and she chortled, "Roger Bacon."

"Enough games." Beach Head had had enough. "I would like to speak to the person pulling the strings on this little puppet show." He approached and put himself between Techrat and Synergy. "You are breaking the law and putting lives in danger."

Synergy quizzically cocked her head to one side. "Explain."

"The satellite systems that you're so callously negotiating is tantamount to trespassing. And the technology that you are leveraging to do so is the property of the US Government."

"Roger Bacon," Synergy replied with a sly grin. She started to probe the Master Sergeant from head to toe in a vain attempt to identify him. "You do not own _The Quanta._ Nobody owns _The Quanta._ " She discontinued her scan and levitated higher, until her eyes met his. "It's like saying that you own the ocean that brought forth all life, or the air that all life breathes. Nobody owns _The Quanta."_

Beach Head was not impressed. "Listen, lady."

A halo surrounded Synergy. "Transmission terminated." And she disappeared.

"No." Techrat returned to his station and attempted to reestablish contact. His fists slammed onto the keyboard. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID! YOU MADE HER GO AWAY!"

Beach Head's restrained anger wasn't enough to prevent his natural Georgia accent from shining through. "Ah am not in the mood fo' yo' shit right now, boy."

Mainframe put a placatory hand on Techrat's shoulder and wisely shifted the focus of the conversation thus, "What I don't get is why she referred to us as 'Roger Bacon'?"

"Roger Bacon was an early Modern Era scholar," Airtight began. "Legend has it that when he discovered how to weaponize gunpowder, he recorded the recipe, but kept the details hidden in anagrams. He feared that mankind would destroy itself had the technology become general knowledge." He shrugged, concluding with, "It's likely that Synergy was following a pre-programmed security imperative based on this."

Techrat snorted. "This Roger Bacon sounds like more of a prophet than a scholar."

"No need to club us over the head with metaphor," Beach Head said. "If anything, it's all the more reason why this technology shouldn't fall into the hands of someone like Zartan."

Techrat retorted with an annoying and protracted laugh. "Like the US Government would wield it any more responsibly?"

Beach Head clenched and unclenched his fist. "Tell him," he said to Mainframe. "Tell him everything."

Mainframe took over the communication station from Techrat and opened a video file at the root of the computer's filesystem. Various classified images populated the screen with an accompanying audio track:

"Watchdog is a communications and reconnaissance network capable of scanning every square inch of the globe. The intention was to implement it in three phases: phase one was soldiers outfitted with holographic camouflage, taking directives from phase two—a centralized mainframe capable of rendering full scale holograms over short distances. However, distance was limited because it relied on huge speakers and other acoustical tricks to give the illusion that the holograms made sound. That's why it was built into a mesa. Finally, phase three was planned to be more portable _and_ have the capability to transmit holograms _with sound_ … perfect for holographic warfare."

"That sounds like it came straight out of _1984."_ Techrat sighed. "My father would never work on such a weapon."

Mainframe arched an eyebrow. "Techrat, what _do_ you know about your father's death?"

"He died in 1978"—Techrat pointed in Beach Head's direction—"killed by someone like _him."_

Mainframe shook his head. "Officially, it is stated that Dr. Hammler died in 1978. However, after GI Joe deactivated the Watchdog mesa, an investigation was opened. That's when we found out about the other two phases. Moreover, there were two key scientists involved in the theory behind project watchdog, one of whom, an unidentified particle physicist, disappeared in 1964. The other one, you're father, faked his death in 1978 to go into hiding."

"Why would he do that?" Techrat asked, nonplussed. "And, even if that's true, why wouldn't he take me with him?"

Mainframe shrugged. "Probably because he felt it was too dangerous. He may in fact have been the earliest known victim of an assassin named Zartan." A photo of Zartan appeared on the screen. "We believe this happened shortly before project watchdog was outsourced to MARS, a front corporation owned by a weapons supplier called Destro. But, it's highly unlikely that MARS could've completed phase two without your father's help. Therefore, we believe Zartan and Destro appropriated your father's work before killing him in order to complete phase two in order to resell Watchdog to the Pentagon as a weapon of mass destruction."

"You're lying. My father would never—"

"These people are ruthless, Walter." Mainframe rose from his station, and he placed a reassuring hand on Techrat's shoulder. "They have ways to make people do things against their will."

Techrat shrugged him off. "BULLSHIT!" and he stormed out of the VAMP.

Beach Head's eyes narrowed. "Did you tag him?"

Mainframe nodded. "Yessir."

"Good. Let the kid have some space."

When everyone went about their business. Roxy decided to follow Techrat. She spied him at the end of the encampment sitting in an open patch of grass.

"Hey..." Roxy approached and squatted in the shade of the nearest tree with her arms folded. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"Don't," Techrat scoffed. "Don't pretend that we're friends all of a sudden."

"Don't worry about that." She frowned. "Fact of the matter is, you at least had a father that loved you. Mine probably took one look at me and ran for the hills. So, the poor little emo orphan act doesn't score any points with me."

Techrat rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Look, I get that you don't trust the government—and I'm right there with you—but these are good people. And the guys that want this thing are NOT. If you don't lift a finger to keep this Zartan asshole from winning, then everything that happens after that is on _you."_

The heat of the Sun forced Roxy to withdraw, being without sunblock. So, she left him and returned to camp.

She came upon the Joes who were now congregated around the breakfast table, but where there was tacos before was now a box of ammunition with pistol magazines scattered across the table top. Each soldier had a magazine in hand and was manually loading them with cartridges. She listened in on their conversation as she settled in the shade.

"Are you saying that she was real?" Airtight scoffed.

Mainframe shrugged. "All I'm saying is. I've never seen a computer interact like that before. The A.I. was advanced… _too_ advanced."

"Still, A.I. does not imply life. That goes against every physical law in the universe."

"But, what is life?" Sci-Fi questioned. "And what is the universe?"

"Matter and energy," Airtight said plainly.

"Wrong," Mainframe said. "The physical world is made of information; energy and matter are incidental."

Beach Head snorted. "Sounds like Hippie-speak."

"Is it?" Mainframe persisted. "Without the 'programming' brought forth from our DNA, we're just a clump of chemicals."

Sci-Fi's brow furrowed. "What if our innate perception, that the world is three-dimensional, is an illusion. What if reality depends solely on how we interpret information?"

Airtight sighed in surrender. "If you assume that, then the differences between photonics and organics become trivial. After all, if you dig down deep enough, we're all quanta."

Beach Head put the last round into his magazine. "You chode-monkeys read too many comic books."

Sci-Fi shrugged. "Science fiction has an uncanny way of becoming Science _fact."_

"Holograms can't do this"—Beach Head tossed the magazine in Mainframe's direction, which he deftly caught. "You pull the plug on the right computer, and the thing goes bye-bye… that's not life." With that he retired to the VAMP.

Eager to pick up where they left off, Roxy followed Beach Head to the RV. She found him retrieving another box of ammo from the utility drawer.

He glanced over his shoulder at her ingress. "You did good today. For the first time we have a solid lead on Zartan's next move."

"So, you're not going to put me in jail, then?"

"Never." He slammed the drawer shut. "But, I'm still going to put you in protective custody."

"What the fuck, man, I thought we were cool!"

"I'm not here to be 'cool.' I'm here to do my job."

"Well, you suck at your job!" She approached to brusquely poke her finger into his massive chest. "I know my rights, and I pay your salary!"

"I get it: you're a tough chick," He said, backing off slightly. "But, do yourself a favor, and dial it down a notch. It'll make people more open to helping you."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you can stop working that shift, because the last thing I want is help from people like you!"

"People like me?"

"Yeah, people only help others when they expect something more in return."

"Not everyone."

"Yes, _everyone,"_ she persisted. "The only reason you're bothering to help me is because it serves to complete your mission." She poked him again. "So, you can stop acting like you care!"

"You tried to save me from falling." Beach Head's glower returned, and he backed her into the wall. "Does that mean you want something from _me_ in return?"

"If you touch me, I'll scream." She cursed her lip for trembling again. "And don't think that that kiss meant anything!"

He snorted and reached for the shelf above to retrieve something wrapped in a white cloth. "Don't flatter yourself, lady. It's not like you gave me a kidney."

She scowled. _Asshole!_

"I believe this belongs to you." He handed her the toweled object. "I'll let you hold on to it, _if_ you promise to keep it out of site."

She unwrapped the towel. It was her switchblade. She grinned and popped the latch. The blade was clean, and It smelled of alcohol.

He brushed past her toward the exit. "If you manage not to stab anyone _else,_ I'll let you listen in on Zartan's arrest."

"Can I have a gun?"

Her comment failed to break his stride. "Hell no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you caught all the hidden Jem references in this tale up to this point, display your nerdom in the review section without shame. You will not be judged. ;p


	12. Unplugged

**Starlight Mansion**

Jerrica Benton pulled up to the empty driveway and turned off the motor. She stepped out of the car; the door closed with an echo. It was then that she noticed how still the air was even as she approached the large double doors leading inside.

She entered; the stillness spilled over into the mansion.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoed, along with her loud footfalls against the granite tile, which prompted her to regard her reflection in the shiny floor.

_Mrs. Bailey has been busy._

A waft, carrying an aroma of sweet sauces and spice, encouraged Jerrica to inhale deeply. She followed her nose to the kitchen where she found Mrs. Bailey hunched over the stove, stirring a large pot.

The gentle housemother turned to Jerrica as she heard her enter the kitchen. "Ah, Jerrica. Good morning, sweetie."

"Good Morning, Mrs. Bailey. Where is everybody?"

"Well, the starlight girls are at school, of course, but I sent all the adults out to run errands. I noticed that things are starting to get neglected around here."

Jerrica blushed. "Sorry, things've just gotten crazy lately with the new album and all."

"I know, dearie." Mrs. Bailey approached and placed her hand gently on the young woman's cheek. "That's what you have me for."

Jerrica closed her eyes and inhaled with a smile. "That smells wonderful."

"Sit down." Mrs. Bailey motioned Jerrica to the kitchen table as she grabbed a plate from the cupboard. "You've been running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. It's not healthy." She placed a piece of chicken on the plate then covered it in sauce, and she served it to Jerrica, saying, "This is my grandmother's 'no interruption' Chicken Cacciatore."

Fork in hand, Jerrica placed her nose closer to the dish. "Why is it called 'no interruption'?"

Mrs. Bailey smirked. "Because, once you take a bite, you'll insist on no interruptions until you've finished your plate."

Jerrica took a hearty bite. "Oh, my god."

"Now you know how I became _Missus_ Bailey." She poured two cups of coffee and took the seat across from Jerrica. "How does it feel to slow down for a change?"

"Wonderful." Jerrica smiled and took another bite. "Thank you. This is just what I needed."

"Talk to me; I never get see you anymore, as busy as you are," Mrs. Bailey said, taking on a sudden serious tone. "You've seemed distracted all week."

"Have I?" Jerrica pouted. "I guess it's because I've run into Rio recently."

Mrs. Bailey stilled the cup at her lips long enough to inquire, "Who's Rio?"

Jerrica snorted. "You know Rio: the boy next door who was my boyfriend for, like, ten years..."

"Of course. How silly of me." Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "So, you're not over him yet, I take it?"

Jerrica sighed. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not. A woman like you can have her pick of quality men. No need to waste your time on one boy who can't appreciate how... _unique_ you are."

"Men are nice, Mrs. Bailey, but women today don't really _need_ a man to be successful or to define themselves."

"Sounds like a bunch of feminist propaganda." Mrs. Bailey narrowed her eyes unapologetically. "Men make life easier. They were put on this Earth for _us._ As long as you cook for them, and put in a little time on your back, they'll do _anything_ for you."

Jerrica eyes widened as her face became flushed. "I don't believe we're having this conversation."

"Well, you lost your mother at such a young age. She never got the chance to impart upon you the wisdom of The Sisterhood." Mrs. Bailey thoughtfully sipped her coffee. "Think about it. You're mother may've had the voice, but where would Starlight Music be without your father?"

"You're right." Jerrica averted her eyes. "Sometimes I forget how blessed I've been."

"So, what do you remember about your father?"

"I remember his love." Jerrica smiled upon reflection. "And his wisdom… when I wasn't busy being teenager, that is."

Mrs. Bailey laughed and rested her chin in her hands, "Did he ever talk to you about his life before he met your mother?"

"Now that you mention it, he never did. I don't really know anything from when he was younger." Jerrica shrugged. "I figured _you_ would know more about that than I."

"No. Your father is a real mystery." Mrs. Bailey sighed heavily. "He literally didn't spring into existence until the year you were born."

"What do you mean?" Jerrica asked nonplussed.

"Hmm?" With a dismissive wave of her hand, Mrs. Bailey finished her coffee. "Oh, pay no mind to the ramblings of this old woman."

Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the doorbell. And Mrs. Bailey nearly hopped from her seat.

"Oh, they're early."

"Are you expecting someone?" Jerrica asked.

"Yes. The Salvation Army is here to pick up some knick knacks that are just sitting around collecting dust." She started to leave, but had the presence of mind to ask. "I hope that's okay, dearie?"

"I guess…. I just wish you discussed it with me first."

"You've been so busy, I didn't want to bother you." She approached and took Jerrica brusquely by the arm. "But, since you're here now, you might as well come with."

The two women made it to the entrance. When Mrs. Bailey opened the door, they were greeted by four large men of unconventional dress for charity workers.

The blond man with a pony tail spoke first. He had an accent. "Good Mornin', ma'am. We're the pick-up service from Goodwill."

Jerrica arched an eyebrow. "I thought you said they were from the Salvation Army, Mrs. Bailey?"

The man shrugged. "Tomato, Tomahto… it's all the same."

"Come in, boys." Mrs. Bailey opened the door wider and waved the rest of the men inside. "Be sure to wipe your feet on the mat; I just mopped."

The men obeyed and followed the women inside, with Mrs. Bailey in the lead. Jerrica walked nervously close behind Mrs. Bailey; she could feel their stares at her back. When she anxiously glanced over her shoulder, one of the men returned her look with a grin.

"It's a nice place you have 'ere... It smells like women."

"Er, thanks?" Jerrica looked away and hugged her chest. She became more trepidatious with each step as they neared the empty wing of the mansion.

"Right this way quickly, now. We don't have all day."

"Mrs. Bailey, where are you taking us?" She did not answer, so Jerrica ran ahead and blocked her ingress to the forbidden area. "Enough! There's nothing in this wing of the mansion."

"Oh, really?" With pursed lips, Mrs. Bailey retrieved a paper from her pocket and unfolded it. "Not according to this blueprint."

Jerrica narrowed her eyes when she recognized the mansion's floor plan inscribed on the paper held by the elder matron. "Where did you get that?"

"It's public record, dearie." Mrs. Bailey gave Jerrica a rather severe look. "You see. I've cleaned this house from top to bottom, yet according to this, there should be an entrance to a room right about where you're standing."

"Well, the plans are wrong." Jerrica replied with her hands on her hips. "As you can see there's nothing here but an empty wall."

The blond man retrieved a device from his jacket. He waved it in Jerrica's direction and it beeped loudly. "I'm reading a power source in this direction."

"Who are you people?" Jerrica insisted, trying her best to keep her arms from shaking. "What do you want? Money?"

For the first time,'Mrs. Bailey' spoke in her true voice. "Stand aside, dearie."

Jerrica gasped. "Y-You're not Mrs. Bailey!"

"Took you long enough, dearie." She sneered. "That's why I picked her: nobody pays attention to the Mrs. Baileys of the world."

The blond man approached. "Move, girlie."

But, Jerrica did not budge. "No." She yelped when she was pushed aside. The men walked through the false wall leading to Synergy, and she followed them, relieved to see the room transformed into a cluttered storage closet. "You see. There's nothing here." She could almost hear her heart thumping against her chest. The blond man snorted and began to wave his device around, following the beeps to the source.

He bumped into something solid.

" _Danger! Intruder Alert!"_

A blinding white light bathed the room which turned into a fire, yet no heat was given off. Jerrica retreated into a corner.

"Bloody hell!" The blond man, along with the others, stepped back.

However, Mrs. Bailey was not fooled by the light show. "Shut it down, Jerrica, or _Mister_ Bailey becomes a widower today." She gave the men a knowing look, saying, "If you don't care about her, think of the children on their way home from school any minute now!"

The blond man leered. "As long as there's grass on the field, play ball, right fellas?"

The men laughed with a menacing countenance on each of their faces.

Jerrica regarded them, horrified, and her eyes fell. She approached the outlet that Synergy was plugged into. Synergy's visage appeared on the computer screen, her eyes pleading. "I'm sorry, Synergy." And she pulled the plug.

The fire disappeared. Synergy was dormant.

'Mrs. Bailey' smiled sweetly. "Wise choice." And she ordered the men to work, saying, "Pack it up fellas, we're outta here in five."

The four men were efficient in their disassembly of Synergy. Jerrica looked on helpless as the tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't stop her chin from trembling.

When they wheeled the last piece out, 'Mrs. Bailey' regarded Jerrica and seemed to take pity on the crestfallen young woman. "What's wrong, dearie, feel like you've been taken for a ride?" She approached and placed her hand on Jerrica's cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, you should know that it takes a lot of work to become someone else. The hours spent studying your target, memorizing all of their quirks and habits, takes skill. I probably know more about your Mrs. Bailey than you do. She's a crusty old bird, but to her credit, I didn't realize that granny panties were so comfortable. Even that dish I cooked for you... she really can make that, you know." She leaned in closer to whisper in Jerrica's ear. "You see, that's the level _I_ play at. So, maybe you can appreciate how irksome it is for someone like me to watch someone like you—an amateur—prancing about, not even bothering to change her voice, or the way the way she walks. This technology is wasted on you... _Jem."_

She retreated, just a pace, to take in the surprise in her victim's eyes. "So, how do you do it? How do you flip the switch between Jerrica Benton and Jerrica-Benton-with-a-wig?"

Jerrica spat in her face. The impostor cursed and slapped her. Jerrica fell to her knees sobbing; her hand rubbed the side of her face, and then moved to her ear.

"Sore loser." She regained her composure and tucked back an errant lock of orange hair that had fallen out from under her wig. "Get up!"

Jerrica dropped something as she was hoisted to her feet. Her familiar looking captor led her through the now exposed entrance, and the room was still.

A lone jemstar earring glistened unnoticed in the corner.


	13. The Tyndall Effect

Los Angeles - Eagle Records

Beach Head massaged his weary brow, yet it did little to relieve the pressure in his sinuses. He opened the utility drawer and found the first aid kit. He opened the kit and rummaged through it's contents:

_Shit. Nothing for allergies._

He settled for the Tylenol and chewed two tablets dry. "Mainframe what's your status?"

Mainframe came in loud and clear over the radio. _"The recording studio is still empty. They appear to be closed. Airtight and I are standing by in position."_

Beach Head acknowledged the report. "Sci-Fi, do you see anything from the roof?"

" _Negative,"_ Sci-Fi replied.

Beach Head grunted, impatient. "Cover Girl?"

"Nothing on the Satellite." Cover Girl's focus remained on the readout of her HUD. "You _do_ realize we're probably hours early."

Beach Head grunted again.

"Is there a bathroom on this thing?" Techrat said.

Cross Country snorted. "Pull out the panel to your left; you'll see a funnel that empties into the septic tank."

Techrat pulled out the panel as instructed, and he grimaced. "Surely, you can't be serious?"

Beach Head regarded the hacker. "This isn't a luxury liner, Hammler." And he paused, not for what presently annoyed him in that moment, but rather for that which was _not_ present:

"Where. Is. Pellegrini?"

Techrat shrugged, his attention focused on other, more pressing endeavors. "Don't look at me."

Cross-Country came out from his periscope, and he cursed. "Sorry, Master Sergeant, this is on me. She said she felt lightheaded, so I cracked the escape hatch so she could get some fresh air." He cursed again. "I didn't think she could've wriggled her way out of that—"

"No. This is on me." Beach Head manned the communication station; the monitor displayed a topographical of the surrounding area within a one mile radius.

"Should we abort?" Cross-Country said.

"Negative." Beach Head put a device on his wrist. He pushed a button, and a point of light flickered on the monitor. "She's close. I'll get her."

Beach Head left the VAMP. He followed the signal to a run down building that appeared to have been a storage warehouse at one time in its past. He walked around the entire edifice to find its back alley entrance. He considered changing into more civilian-friendly attire, when he saw a group of youths enter ahead of him. Piercings, spiked hair and wild makeup seemed to be the norm in there.

 _Not exactly a conventional dress code_.

Beach Head paid his way inside. The loud music and flashing lights were bad enough, but the smoke made his head pound.

_That's not tobacco…_

Beach Head changed out the filter in his mask; it helped. He looked about to the sea of bobbing heads just breaking through the surface of a smoky haze. The lighting changed, and he caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He cut through the dance floor to find Roxy moving to the music; she seemed to be detached, in a different world, until Beach Head's voice brought her back.

"Pelligrini!"

Roxy turned to Beach Head, and she froze. She regarded him wide-eyed with her teeth tugging her bottom lip, as a child would look upon a parent after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

He took her by the arm and led her away from the loud subwoofers. "You're not going to be satisfied until I have you bound and gagged, are you?" He let her go when he took notice of her pained expression, and he forgot his anger. "Sorry..."

She massaged last night's bruises, still fresh, on her forearm. "Look, I'm not trying to piss you off. I'm sure squaring off against international terrorists and killer robots is all in a day's work for you, but for me… I'm barely holding it together. "

He straightened with his hands clasped behind his back. "I've seen you in action. You're stronger than that."

"You don't get it." She sighed. "It's hard for me to let people in, but once they're in, they're _in._ Now, I've seen men like those Dreadnoks before…. There's no way they're gonna let my friends just walk, is there?"

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to them—"

"Still... I can't be there when you take Zartan down." She averted her eyes in shame. "I'm not ready to know yet."

Beach Head curled his lip and spoke gently. "Okay."

She snorted quietly and hugged her chest. "You must think I'm some kind of dummy."

"I don't think that at all."

"I don't need your pity, soldier boy!" she snapped, and she turned her back to him.

He stowed the urge to touch her, saying instead, "I had a friend in school. He was an albino like you. The kids made fun of him and he really acted out as a result. Especially in class, he got hostile when the teacher made him participate."

She shrugged. "School is dumb."

"That's what he said at the time. Turns out he had trouble seeing print. It was hard for his albino eyes to distinguish between letters. All he needed to fix the problem was a pair of glasses, but he resisted."

She shrugged. "Glasses are for dorks."

"He said that too. But, he was lucky enough to have people who loved him enough to kick his ass every day until he got with the program. As a result, he graduated second in his class."

Her head lifted. "Only _second_ place?"

"Yeah... unfortunately for him, our school valedictorian was a real asshole."

"Are you trying to say that if I only wore glasses in school, that I too could've come in second behind an asshole?" She turned to face him. "On the street, second place isn't good enough."

He took a step closer. "All I'm saying is, to've gotten where you are in life with what you had took a lot of smarts."

She blushed, and she smiled. "Shut up." And she punched his shoulder playfully.

He tried not to wince as the wound in his shoulder started to pulse. He was less successful hiding his sarcasm. "You're welcome."

She snorted. "Soldier boy, I've been called a lot of things, but having 'a lot of smarts' has got to be the strangest on the list, right behind my grandmother calling me _occhi diavolo_ —" She quieted when he placed a finger under her chin to gently raise her eyes to meet his.

"They're not the 'devil's eyes'," he said, translating that last part. "They're violet: the color of royalty…. The color itself is an optical illusion: it's the same phenomena that makes the sky blue. It's called the Tyndall effect."

She blinked under his intense gaze. "H-how do you know all that?"

"Remember the asshole that beat out my friend for valedictorian? _I_ was the asshole."

" _You_ were a nerd?" She shook her head. "No. Effing. Way!"

"Don't judge a book by it's cover." His hands returned behind his back, and he cleared his throat. "So, what the hell kind of place is this anyway?"

"It's a dance club," she replied, nonplussed. "Isn't it obvious?"

"But, why is it full of people? The sun's still out."

"That's why it's called a 'Day Rave', soldier boy."

"Don't these people have jobs?"

"Not everyone has a nine-to-five." She hip-bumped him. "What was all that noise about not judging a book by it's cover?"

The music started up again, and the crowd cheered. Beach Head tensed as a wave of people assailed them from both sides, encircling and entrapping them.

When Roxy saw Beach Head reach for his forty-five, she grabbed his arm. "NO! Go with the flow."

"What?!"

She grinned. "Trust me."

Beach Head released the pistol back into its holster, and steeled himself as five men slammed into him, sending him stumbling into an opposing wave of dancers. Taking her advice, he gave ground and allowed himself to get jostled about. The thump of the bass coursed through his body. The thump itself seemed to synchronize with the oscillation of the crowd; indeed, there was an odd equilibrium to be found, and by feel he was able to navigate via the order hidden in the chaos. He grabbed Roxy as soon as she was within arms reach and held her close. She was giggling.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and in answer to his perplexed eyes, said, "Slam dancing."

Beach Head grunted. "Aptly named." And he picked her up, carrying her with one arm. With the other he plowed his way off the dance floor. He found a darkened spot along a wall, away from the bustle. The lighting changed, and he paused to take into account how her fair hair and skin served as a canvas that hosted the varied colors that ran across the room.

For a brief second, they shared a look.

The Soldier set the Rocker down gently, as if she weighed nothing. Roxy found her balance and loosened her grip around his neck. Her hands slid down his broad shoulders and settled upon the bulges in his immovable arms. _Wow..._

Beach Head's communicator beeped; he did not answer it. "If I let you stay here, Pellegrini, do you promise not to bolt again?"

She nodded in answer, his willing prisoner, with pleading eyes. "Will you stick around? At least for a little while?"

In answer, Beach Head spoke into the transceiver thus: "All units, I'm going to continue to monitor this operation from the dance club across the street with Pellegrini. Mainframe, what's your sitrep?"

Mainframe acknowledged the order. _"A man just entered Eagle Records."_

"Is it Gabor?"

" _Negative."_ Mainframe said. _"Permission to engage?"_

"Granted." Beach Head put the transceiver away. "I should go."

"Wait." Roxy pouted as she pulled the soldier closer. A single dainty finger traced the seam down the side of his balaclava. "So, what's with the ski mask… are you, like, all gross under there, or something?"

Beach Head snorted. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

He felt her fingers working to roll his mask up his neck and past his chin. Beach Head regarded her eyes as she did this, even as her fingers stilled, and she gasped. But, it was a gasp of shock, with her eyes trained on something behind him.

He turned too late.

"Mind if we cut in, bloke?"

A punch clipped Beach Head in just the right spot, and he found himself on his back. The music was dulled; he fought to stay conscious. Laughter mocked him. He could barely make out Mainframe's voice over the radio:

" _Beach Head, we've been played!"_

Roxy's bloodcurdling scream informed him that he needed to move… now.

Beach Head rolled to his side just in time to avoid Ripper's bayonet. Its sharp point held fast into the aged wooden floor. He grabbed the barrel and kicked.

"Bloody Hell!"

 _One down._ Beach Head rose to his feet, weathering an onslaught of punches; there were too many to block them all. He instinctively reached for his pistol, but he reversed himself:

_Civilians._

He clenched his fists and swung wide in order to gain ground.

" _Beach Head, do you copy?"_

—oOo—

"Sci-Fi, do you still have eyes?"

_"Affirmative, Mainframe, I got you two covered. You're clear to breach."_

Mainframe and Airtight penetrated the rear entry of Eagle Records. They knew the layout and were able to move quickly and efficiently to the front entrance. They crouched by the doorway to the waiting area, their target within reach:

"Hello?" the target called out. "Is anybody there? I'm supposed to meet someone…."

Mainframe gave the signal, and Airtight tossed the flash grenade.

_BAM!_

Airtight and Mainframe stormed the room, their target lay prostrate on the floor, sobbing.

Mainframe charged in first, aiming his pistol. "It's time to drop the act, Zartan! We know you're meeting Gabor here!"

The target raised his arms in surrender. "I don't know no Zartan, man. My name is Brad."

Airtight approached, holstered his weapon, and pulled out a miniature UV lamp. "Brad, do you mind if I test something on you?"

"What's that?"

"I want to shine this light on your skin to see if it causes a violent carcinogenic metastatic reaction."

Brad blinked. "Dude... that sounds totally awesome!"

Airtight turned on the UV lamp. It had no effect on Brad, so Mainframe lowered his weapon, saying, "What are you doing here, Brad?"

"Some guys paid me to deliver a message."

"What guys?"

"I don't know, but they talked funny—like those British people. They told me to ask for Mainframe." He reached into his pocket, but stilled when Mainframe raised his pistol. "Relax, dude. The note is in my pocket."

Airtight retrieved the note in Brad's pocket, and he handed it to Mainframe.

Mainframe frowned as he read the note:

_You're not the only ones who can pick up on patterns of speech inflection, Joes._

_xoxo_ _—_ _Z_

Mainframe cursed, and he pushed the button on his transceiver. "Beach Head, we've been played!" There was only static as a reply. "Beach Head, do you copy?"

Cover Girl's hurried voice broke the radio's squelch. _"Mainframe! Beach Head is still in the dance club across the street, East of the main entrance. He's not responding! Hurry!"_

Mainframe and Airtight burst through the front door and headed east. They saw the building and tracked the source of the panicked crowds pouring out of the exit. Sci-Fi dropped out of the sky, landing next to them, and he threw off his jetpack.

The three Joes breached the club in force. It didn't take long to find the source of all the commotion: Beach Head had just taken a chair across his back. He fell to the floor and did not move.

Mainframe led the charge. He hoisted Buzzer off his feet and suplexed him onto the hard ground, knocking the Dreaknok out cold. He heard metal clang against metal, and he looked to the source to see that Sci-Fi had just blocked Ripper's saber-bayonet with his laser rifle; the bayonet was aimed to decapitate the computer operations specialist.

Mainframe rose and drew his pistol, aiming it at the nearest Dreadnok. He froze when he met Zarana's eyes.

Zarana cocked the hammer on her pistol. "Hello, Mainframe. Got my message, did you?"

"I did." He smirked. "Are you ready to surrender?"

She smiled. "Why? We're winning."

Monkeywrench tackled Mainframe, caught unawares, and they rolled on the ground.

Zarana got a lay of room. She was one Dreadnok down, and the odds were too evenly matched for her liking. She decocked the hammer on her pistol and ignited a smoke bomb amidst the kerfuffle. She then whistled, rallying the remainder of her forces:

"Dreadnoks! We are leaving!"

Mainframe threw Monkeywrench off. He found his gun and swept the area with Sci-Fi at his back, soon to be flanked by Airtight, but the enemy was gone, save for one.

—oOo—

Beach Head bolted upright, roused by smelling salts.

Airtight held him fast by his shoulders. "Easy, Beach, although your hematoma is outside the skull, you may still have a slight concussion."

Beach Head ignored him. He noticed that they were back in the VAMP. "Gabor? Pelligrini?"

Airtight shook his head. "Both taken."

Beach Heat rose from the cot and activated the communication monitor. There was no signal. _Out of range._ "How long have I been out?"

"Less than thirty minutes," Cover Girl said. "Zartan was ready for us."

Beach Head clenched his jaw. "Zartan has been one step ahead of us since this whole mission started…. That is _really_ starting to annoy me."

"We managed to capture Buzzer," Mainframe said. "I thought that might lift your spirits." He gave Beach Head a sideways nod, and they exited the VAMP where they had Buzzer handcuffed to the rear bumper.

Beach Head held out his hand. "Gun." And Sci-Fi, who had been standing guard, handed him a pistol. He screwed on the suppressor and aimed his weapon at the Dreadnok, saying, "You know how this plays out, Buzzer. Where is Zartan?"

Buzzer spat at the soldier's feet. "Blow it out your _arse_ , Joe!"

Beach Head's eyes narrowed. "What did you say to me?"

"I said, 'blow it out your _arse_!'"

"What in the hell is an _arse_?"

"It's another word for _ass_ ," Mainframe said.

"Then why the hell didn't he just say, ass?"

"I don't know, Beach. That's just how they talk in England."

"You Joes are a right bunch of wankers—"

Beach Head pulled the trigger.

_PAMF!_

The bullet ricocheted off the plating next to Buzzer's ear.

Buzzer cupped his hand over that side of his face. "BLOODY HELL!"

"You will curse in proper American English, or alternatively Spanish, in my country, boy!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"That's better." Beach Head returned the weapon to its owner. "Search him."

Beach Head retired to the RV. His head pounding, he leaned against the aft wall. He shrugged off Cover Girl's helping hand. "I'm fine."

"You are not invincible," she persisted. "Now, sit down before I pull rank."

He arched an eyebrow. "Yes, ma'am." And he allowed her to guide him to the medical cot.

She removed Beach Head's balaclava and massaged his shoulders and scalp, relieved that her ministrations visibly brought him some much needed comfort. "Like Airtight said, the knot is on the outside. Lucky for you they only hit you on the head and not anywhere important, Master Sergeant."

Beach Head merely grunted.

Techrat regarded the soldier, curious. "Why didn't you kill him?"

Beach Head gave Techrat a sideways glance. "Come again?"

"He tried to kill you, didn't he? There's no doubt he's a bad man who deserves it. And, it's not like there was anyone around to stop you… no consequences. So, why not just kill him?"

"I don't know what country you live in, but the one I serve is a country of laws, and the people I serve with honor that, all the way up the chain of command."

Techrat pondered the words, as he had everything else up to this point. He finally rose from his seat, but forgot that he was bound to his chair. He looked to Mainframe, saying, "Uncuff me."

But, Mainframe ignored him. "Sorry, Techrat, we're busy."

"Do you want to catch Zartan, or not?"

Mainframe looked to Beach Head. After an approving nod, he unlocked Techrat's handcuffs, and gave up his seat at the communications station.

Mainframe eyed the monitor above displaying a satellite map over North America. "What are you doing, Walter?"

Techrat grinned. "Pop quiz: how are black holes detected?"

Everyone in the cabin looked in Airtight's direction. True to form, the Joe's science officer did not disappoint:

"Black holes absorb most forms radiation, including visible light, making direct observation impossible. However, their existence can be inferred by measuring their effects on surrounding systems."

"Precisely," Techrat said. He directed everyone to the monitor above his station. "Look at this satellite heat map from our failed attempt to intercept Synergy's last transmission. The algorithm is rather ingenious; it constantly hops between nodes, so even if you compromise one, you're only getting a piece of the puzzle. But, by then the handshake has already moved on. It's like plucking the strings on a guitar with an infinite number of strings. The only predictable element is the amount of bandwidth used per connection."

"How does this help us if we can't defeat the quantum encryption?" Mainframe asked.

"This isn't about quantum encryption anymore," Techrat replied. "Synergy's effect on the entire system acts like a gravity well. The closer the satellite is to the source server, the more throughput is demanded of it—that is—the harder the string is being 'plucked'. It doesn't matter how many satellites you bounce your signal off of, because the throughput is proportional with respect to distance. Therefore, geolocationality can be inferred by ranking the affected satellites in a coordinate matrix."

Beach Head nodded as he followed along. "At which point It'll be a simple matter of using vector calculus to triangulate the server's position."

Techrat stilled at Beach Head's insight. "Er… That's correct." And he smiled approvingly.

"I'm sold. Make it happen."

"You should know that since the satellites are not equidistant, there's going to be a substantial margin of error. So, don't expect pinpoint accuracy."

"You get me within five clicks, and I'll take care of the rest," Beach Head said, concluding with, "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hammler."

"My friends call me Techrat." The two shared a knowing look.

Satisfied, Beach Head, placed his hand upon Cover Girl's in tacit gratitude, and he left the VAMP. Sci-Fi and Cross-Country had just finished searching Buzzer as ordered. "Give me some good news, men."

"Sorry, boss. Buzzer didn't have anything on him that we can track." Sci-Fi presented a tray that held the contents of Buzzer's pockets.

Beach Head lifted a curious looking scrap of paper from the lot. "What's this?"

"It's a receipt from a greasy spoon on the North side of town," Cross-Country said. "He paid cash, so it's not much of a trail."

"Still, it suggests that he and his gang could've arrived from a location even further North." Beach Head rubbed his chin. "Zartan has a big lead on us. We can't sit around waiting for Techrat to get a hit on Synergy. I'd like to at least be going in an approximate direction until we get a lock on a location." He poked his head back inside the RV, saying, "Cover Girl, It's time to roll out."

"You got a destination, Boss?"

"Negative, just a bearing: north on I-5. Techrat will navigate."


	14. Signature

**Starlight Mansion**

Aja Leith parked in her spot next to Jerrica's car. As she walked to the mansion entrance, she took notice of Mrs. Bailey's van, that was used to shuttle the starlight girls to and from school, which prompted her to glance at her watch.

Aja entered the mansion and came upon Kimber and Raya standing, sullen, in the common area. "Hey, guys, what's going on? Why is the van still in the driveway?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Kimber replied. "Mrs. Bailey sent us all over town running errands, so we just got back ourselves. Is Jerrica with you?"

"No, and Joanie was pissed that she never came back from lunch," Aja said. "Her car is in the driveway too."

" _Sí,_ but she's not here, and neither is Mrs. Bailey," Raya persisted. "Shana's making some phone calls, trying to get to the bottom of things."

Aja rubbed her chin. "I know who can clear this up." And she left for the 'special' wing of the mansion, followed by Kimber and Raya.

The three of them arrived at Synergy's room and stilled upon noticing that there was no hologram obscuring the entrance. Their spirits fell even further as they crossed the threshold.

Aja dropped her keys, and they fell at her feet, causing an echo in the empty room.

"Synergy's gone." Kimber said, breaking the stunned silence. "On the upside, I don't think things can get any worse."

Shana finally came running into the room. "Hey, guys, I got news—" And she froze. "Where's Synergy?"

Aja shook her head. "What did you find out, Shana?"

Shana hesitated in answering, still taking in the reality of Synergy's absence. "I-I just got off the phone with Mrs. Bailey..."

"That's good."

"No, it's not," Shana said. "According to her, Jerrica, or at least someone claiming to be Jerrica, told her that her services were no longer required. She hasn't been to the mansion all week."

"Has Mrs. Bailey gone senile?" Kimber snapped. "We've seen her just this morning!"

"Or, at least someone that looked like Mrs. Bailey," Aja said.

"I stand corrected." Kimber hugged her chest. "What are we going to do? I'm officially freaked out!"

Aja put her hand on Kimber's shoulder. "I'll tell what we're _not_ going to do: we're not going to panic."

"Aja's right," Shana added. "I'll start by picking up the starlight girls from school. We'll figure this out when I get back."

"No, don't bring the kids back here," Aja said. "Take them to Danse's place."

"Why? Won't that invite questions?"

"I don't feel safe here anymore, do you?"

Shana looked down at her feet. "Good point." She sighed. "I-I'll tell them we have a gas leak, or something."

"Good idea, Shana," Raya said. "What about Synergy? If we find Synergy, we'll find Jerrica, no?"

Kimber mused. "There's only one other place Synergy has ever been: Starlight Drive-in."

"Do we still own that property?" Shana questioned.

"Yes, and it's as good a place to start as any."

Aja nodded. "Okay, but, don't go alone."

"I'll go with her," Raya said.

"Where are you going, Aja?" Kimber said.

Aja shrugged. "The old Starlight house… the basement is still under the foundation. I know it's a longshot."

"No, that's good idea too," Raya said, eager to keep the energy positive. However, even she had to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "Guys, I know Synergy is important to you, but at what point do we consider calling the police?"

"Let's all meet at Danse's after," Aja offered. "Then we'll decide what to do."

With that, the holograms left to their assigned tasks. Aja was the last one to her car. She searched her pockets in vain, realizing that she didn't have her keys.

_Shit!_

She ran into the mansion, back to Synergy's room, and found her keys on the floor. She knelt to retrieve them and noticed a flash of red at the edge of her vision. She gasped when she spied the Jemstar earring, the jewel in the center catching the light as she picked it up. With trembling lips, she dared to whisper, "Showtime Synergy?"

Aja yelped and dropped the earring as an explosion of light flooded the room. Her eyes came into focus on a holographic rendering of California. A point of light flickered prominently on the map, marked by two sets of numbers:

_Latitude and Longitude…_

Aja burned the numbers into her memory. Then, just as abruptly as it appeared, the map was gone.

—oOo—

**Stingers Sound**

"Rio, why aren't you in the studio with the Misfits?"

Rio Pacheco looked up from the wiring panel to regard Eric Raymond, manager of the Misfits and part owner of Stingers Sound. Historically, their relationship has never been amicable, which was all the more reason Rio insisted on observing the niceties whenever they interacted. "Good morning, Eric."

To Eric's credit, he acquiesced. "Good morning."

"I staged the microphones last night," Rio began. "All that needs to be done is to record the guide tracks—something your interns should be able to handle—with as much as I'm charging you, your money's better spent with me recalibrating your equipment's Level and Reverberation controls: whoever your last contractor was, he did a piss-poor job." He leered. "Then again, you probably got what you paid for."

Eric was not impressed. "I need you to re-stage the microphones."

"Why? Is there a problem with my work?"

"In principle, no; however, circumstances have changed," Eric said, coolly. Not being one to linger, he left.

Rio did as he was instructed and proceeded to the main recording studio. When he arrived, it became apparent what Eric meant about the circumstances having changed: only three of the four Misfits were prepped and waiting on deck.

Rio sighed. "Where's Roxy?"

Pizzazz's focus remained on tooling the neck of her instrument as she plainly answered, "She's not coming."

"Okay, but Roxy is your bass player," Rio explained carefully. "We're supposed to be laying down the bass tracks today, right?"

Pizzazz finally regarded him. "I'll play bass." With that she shouldered her instrument and demonstrated by playing Roxy's part expertly.

Rio arched an eyebrow. "Fine. Then I'll need you to stand in Roxy's position by mike number three."

Pizzazz responded with a saccharin smile. "Whatever you say, Rio." And she obeyed.

Satisfied, Rio then took notice of Jetta's new instrument, saying, "What happened to your saxophone, Jetta?"

"It broke," Jetta said. "So, I grabbed this one from the inventory."

Rio pinched his brow. "That's going to be a problem: that's a Tenor Sax… you normally play an Alto."

Jetta rolled her eyes. "I know how to transpose B-flat to E-flat, yank."

"C'mon, Rio, let's do this," Pizzazz said. "Time is money."

On this point Rio couldn't disagree, so he retired to the control room and took over for the interns. Given the circumstances, he anticipated the worst; however, two hours into the session passed without incident, as the Misfits performed on task the entire time.

Unfortunately, such a thing wasn't meant to last.

Rio returned from taking a break to find the Misfits standing quietly, facing each other in the center of the studio. He pushed the button on the intercom and said, "Hey guys, I'd like you to replay that last bridge again; I think Jetta's _three to flat nine_ would sound better if she took it up a third."

They did not respond. He pushed the button again:

"Is everything all right in there?"

Again there was no response, so he left the control room and made his way to the studio. As he entered, the Misfits were suddenly on their way out.

"Where are you going?" Rio asked, nonplussed. "We still have another two hours to go."

Pizzazz brushed past him first. "Sorry, Rio. Something's come up."

Jetta was next. "Besides, you have enough."

"Yeah," Stormer said, bringing up the rear. "Make it work."

Rio pinched his brow, and he sighed. _I need coffee._

In spite of the irritation of the Misfit's early departure, the solitude of working alone brought about a welcome change of pace, like putting together the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. However, as Rio continued to remix the audio sources, he detected an oddity in the puzzle pieces, made more pronounced as he refined the various tracks.

His interest was so piqued that when his studio time expired, Rio took the sound files with him to continue his analysis. He went to his third floor office, in his haste leaving the door open, and powered on his Amiga 3000, then he inserted the digital audio tape into his MIDI console.

While he waited for the computer to finish booting, he heard the distinctive sound of high heels in the hallway outside. A familiar form passed by his opened door. He rose from his chair and followed her, calling out, "Hey, Minx."

The blonde turned to regard him, whipping her long hair over her shoulder in the process. "What do you want, Rio?"

He approached. "I need you to listen to something."

"I have better things to do than to listen to the Misfits' dreck."

Rio blocked her path as she tried to pass. "I'd really appreciate it," he persisted. "Yours is the only ear that I trust."

Minx snorted. "Flattery from Rio Pacheco…. Now, I'm intrigued." And she followed Rio to his office.

Once inside Rio directed her to the center of the room. "Stand here." He replayed the track, and with his hands on her hips, he guided her to the room's sweet spot.

Minx nuzzled up against him. "Cozy." But her smile faded as the music droned on. "I give up. What am I listening for?"

"First tell me what you hear?"

"I hear a standard stereo track of sub par music."

"What if I told you that the channel on the left and the channel on the right are two different recordings?"

Minx laughed. "Rio, stop being coy." And she turned into him, saying, "You don't need to go through all this subterfuge to get me alone in a room." Her hands rested on his shoulders. "If you want to play, just ask."

Rolling his eyes, Rio removed her arms. "This isn't about you, Minx."

At this she frowned. "Bah! I don't know why I bother with Jerrica's scraps!" And she pushed him away, making him fall into his chair. "You bore me."

Undeterred, he said, "You didn't answer my question about the music."

Minx straightened, and she folded her arms across her bust. "What? You were being serious?"

Rio smirked. "As hard as it is to believe, Minx, you _are_ resistible."

" _Arschloch!"_ she spat, her frown turning into a scowl. "Why should I help you?"

His smirk broadened into an arrogant smile. "Maybe because you owe me for saving your flat ass from drowning?"

An involuntary guffaw escaped her as she regarded Rio with narrowed eyes. "Fine. Replay it."

Rio turned in his chair and requeued the track. But this time, Minx grabbed the pair of headphones and plugged them in. She then swivelled Rio around and lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him.

She was warm. At first Rio objected. "What are you doing, Minx?"

"Quiet!" she snapped, adjusting the headphones around her ears. "If I am so hideous, then this shouldn't be a problem." She closed her eyes.

Rio regarded her as she withdrew into herself and listened in earnest. Her fine analytical mind, second to none, in terms of music, complemented her soft feminine features—as they weren't being contorted in the pursuit of her often maligned self-interest for a change.

In that moment it became painfully obvious why men usually fall prey to her wiles, and he sighed. _She_ is _attractive… when she's not being Minx..._

She opened her eyes and caught him staring, betrayed by a fleeting smile, and for the first time they shared an honest look with one another.

However, at the song's end, her stoicism returned, and she removed the headphones. "These channels _are_ effectively identical, but what you are claiming is impossible. It's like trying to sign your name _exactly_ the same every time… there will always be variation."

"I know," Rio said. "So, what do you think is going on?"

"Either your equipment is faulty, or you're an idiot!"

A familiar voice interrupted them:

"Rio?"

Rio looked to the gentle figure standing by his door, and his eyes widened. "Aja?"

Minx regarded the Hologram, and she sported a devilish smile. "Now, this is, how you say, 'awkward'?"

Being ever so subtle, Minx bore down with her hips, and her strong thighs squeezed together—sly actions imperceptible to anyone watching, but not to the man on the receiving end.

Her heat made him grip the armrest on the chair a little tighter, and he glowered. "I'll be right with you, Aja... Minx was just leaving."

"Yes, you have wasted enough of my time." With a knowing look, Minx rose from Rio's lap, but not before whispering in his ear, "It seems that at least _one_ part of you doesn't find me so resistible..." And she left.

Aja closed the door upon Minx's egress. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Believe me, you didn't interrupt anything." Rio cleared his throat as he crossed his legs to regain his composure. "Listen, if this is about the other night, can it wait? I have a deadline."

For the first time he regarded Aja's reddened eyes and the tears welling therein, and his countenance softened. He rose from his chair, walked over, and without asking why, he held her.

"Let me guess: she's in trouble?" He felt Aja nod against his chest. "And you can't go to the police?" She nodded again. "What do you need from me?"

They parted, and Aja retrieved a map from her purse. "I think Jerrica's at these coordinates."

Rio pursed his lips, as what she needed became apparent, and he examined the highlighted region on the map. "I'm not familiar with this area, but I know there's a small airstrip out there. If we take my plane, we can be there in no time."

Aja smiled. "Thank you, Rio."

After a quick phone update to Danse's shelter, Aja and Rio wasted no time getting to the airport. The trip was made in silence, even as they exited the car and made their way to the hangar that housed Rio's private airplane.

Rio pulled some strings to get his plane at the head of the queue for takeoff. The only thing he did not rush was his preflight safety check.

Aja stood by patiently, until she noticed Rio handling a large handgun. "When did you get that?"

"Better to have it and not need it, right?" Rio replied. "Honestly, with the weirdness I've seen while I was The Hologram's road manager, I've often asked myself, why I didn't get a gun sooner." He regarded her worried expression. "Tell me I won't need it, and I'll leave it behind." At her silence, he inserted the magazine and engaged the safety before putting the weapon back into the container under his seat. _That's what I thought._

The rest of the effort, even after takeoff, was made in silence. Rio doubled checked their heading and levelled the plane at 20,000 feet.

Aja hugged her chest tighter. "Mind if we turn up the heat?"

"Sure." Rio reached for the dashboard and turned the heater on. He placed both hands back on the yoke. A loud snort escaped him.

However, it did not escape Aja's notice. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Rio shook his head. "It's silly."

"My mind is going at a million miles an hour with worry right now, " Aja said. "I wouldn't mind a little silly."

"Well, you just broke the record for the most words Aja Leith has said to Rio Pacheco in a day."

"Are you serious?" She said in disbelief. "When was the last time?"

"The other night at Starlight Music, by the elevators."

"C'mon! I know for a fact that I've said plenty to you before that."

"I don't count conversations related to business."

"Humph..." Aja pursed her lips. "I'm gonna pretend that this isn't all a little strange and ask, when did you start word-counting our conversations?"

"I don't remember exactly when, but the catalyst was that week I came back from college to show off my new car: when I broke up with Jerrica after I caught her flirting with Eric Raymond... The week that you and I…."

Aja gasped. "Oh. That was a long time ago." And she straightened in her seat.

"I must admit that it took me a few years to figure out why you talked me into taking Jerrica back."

"That's because boys don't mature as fast as girls," Aja replied as a matter of fact. "Whatever happened to that car, anyway?"

"I junked it after college. I got tired of maintaining it."

"That's a shame." She smirked. "That backseat was nice and roomy, as I recall."

Rio grinned knowingly. "Do you regret any of it?"

"No… do you?"

"I only regret that we don't talk anymore. I missed you," Rio said in reverie. "That's really why I sought closure with Jerrica the other night: I guess I didn't want to get shut out again..." He frowned. "That's sounds pretty pathetic to hear it out loud."

"No, it's not." Aja said. "We've all known each other all of our lives. You can't just switch that off."

"But, _you_ did."

Aja narrowed her eyes. "Is that what you think?"

Rio averted his eyes. "No."

"The truth is I thought it would make things easier," Aja said. "It doesn't matter anymore, I guess, since I'm with Craig now."

Rio's kept his eyes forward, and he curled his lip. _"Craig…"_

She eyed Rio suspiciously. "What's wrong with Craig?"

"Did I say there was anything wrong with Craig?"

"You said his name with a disapproving tone."

"I guess I did…. Is he good to you?"

"Yes, he is. Why?"

Rio shrugged. "He seems to have a bit of a temper."

"Holy. Shit," Aja said, exasperated. "You're one to talk... Rio _Punch-_ eco."

"Hey, I don't have a temper. I just choose to express my frustration in ways that society labels as overly aggressive."

"Er… that sounds like the definition of having a temper to me."

"Says the woman who slapped said boyfriend when she thought that he was married to his own sister."

"You ass!" Aja put her face in her hands in a vain attempt to quell her laughter. "...says the man who kicked over an innocent planter as he walked away in a prissy huff!"

"Why are you bringing up old shit?" Rio smiled in recollection. "Besides, that planter was ugly; as far as I'm concerned, I did you guys a favor."

Aja rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, purple-haired pangolin."

"Blue-haired bandicoot."

"Now, that one doesn't count: my hair isn't blue, it's cerulean."

"Cerulean has too many syllables," Rio scoffed. "How am I supposed to make that work?"

Aja grinned, being unapologetic. "That's not my problem, Pacheco. _Jerrica_ would've..."

Then, as quickly as it had come, the light-hearted moment had vanished with the mention of Jerrica's name. Aja withdrew into herself, and she stared longingly out of the window.

"Hey." Rio reached across and placed his hand atop of Aja's. "Jerrica's going to be fine. I have a good feeling."

Aja smiled weakly, and she nodded. Silence returned to the cabin, save for the roar of the plane's engine. The sense of doom and gloom that had weighed on them since takeoff was made lighter by hope.

"Cerulean-haired caecilian..."


	15. Reboot, Reformat, Reinstall....

**Dreadnok Headquarters**

Zandar stared intently at the CCTV display. The subject on the screen, with her raven hair, was brought into focus; the picture zoomed in, cropping her full face into the frame. She rose from her bunk, and Zandar moved the joystick, panning the view to follow her as she paced her cell.

A snort from Zarana caught his attention, and he regarded his sister's knowing smirk across the table, prompting him to turn off the display. He glanced at his watch.

The door to the small room opened, and Monkeywrench entered with Harvey Gabor brusquely in tow. The Dreadnok set the elder businessman down in the chair across the table from the siblings, and he retreated to stand guard by the door.

Harvey Gabor massaged his shoulder, sore from his captor's brutal ministrations. "Are you two in charge here?"

"No," Zandar said.

"You tell your boss I don't speak to underlings."

Zarana paused from buffing her nails to answer, "Tell him yourself."

Gabor looked around the room. "Where?"

Zartan's disembodied voice answered, "Hello, Harvey. I'm glad you decided to come, your attempt to tip off the Joes notwithstanding… It's been a long time."

Gabor continued to look about in vain for the source of the voice. "Do we know each other?"

"Well, I'm not exactly on your Christmas card list, but we've met before."

Zartan came out from hiding as his cloak discontinued under a flicker of light. He approached, his breast plate glowing a bright blue, and Gabor gasped.

"What's wrong?" Zartan said with a menacing leer. "You look ill at ease."

Gabor retreated further in his seat, shying away as Zartan stood over him. "The radiation from the stealth armor… you shouldn't use it. How did you even get your hands on it?"

"Why, you gave it to me, of course."

"Impossible. They all died."

"Oh, really? How could that happen? Didn't you bother to tell 'them' about the side effects?"

Gabor averted his eyes. "It wasn't my choice. It was supposed to be the government's job to disclose the effects of Fleeger radiation."

"Well, now's the time to make it right." The light in Zartan's breastplate faded. He sat on the table's edge with his arms folded. "Did you bring me what I asked for?"

Relieved, Gabor regained his composure. "If you'd done your homework, you'd know that I've been out of the game for over ten years, Dr. Hammler's death in '78 saw to that… most of the tribal knowledge regarding Watchdog was in his head."

Zartan was not impressed. "Oh, I did do my homework, Harvey. When I had the encryption signatures analyzed, I knew that someone smarter than you had taken Dr. Hammler's work to the next level. "

"What do you want from me, then?"

"I know that your contributions to Project Watchdog were more primitive. So primitive, in fact, that I'm banking that they'd escape the notice of any higher level countermeasures of succeeding generations of firmware built on top of the Watchdog platform."

Gabor snorted loudly. "All this trouble for a rescue disk?"

This made Zartan frown. "Don't be so glib, Harvey."

"But, why? Project Watchdog was an abysmal failure. No sane person would touch it with a ten foot pole."

"Then you should have no problem handing over what I want."

"The government confiscated all of our phase one data after phase two was destroyed. If I recall correctly, those idiots at MARS tried to build it into the side of a mountain?"

"It was a mesa, actually," Zartan said. "That's why phase two was called 'Mesa'; granted It's a trivial distinction, but I like to be exact whenever possible."

"My point is, the government took everything we had. There's nothing left to give."

Zartan leaned in closer, looking Gabor directly in the eye, but the old man did not flinch. "Impressive. You haven't lost your knack for lying, old man. Fortunately, I know you Harvey: the show's not over until _you_ say it's over." He retreated to Zandar's workstation and came back with an envelope. He opened it and emptied its contents for Gabor's review, saying, "I happen to have an itemized list of what your company turned in to DARPA. The thing I want is not on this list. That means _you_ still have it."

Gabor looked over the paper's briefly, and he shrugged. "Not really. You're living proof that people stole from me left and right, so how can you hold me accountable for a piece of fifteen year old code?" He casually tossed the papers aside. "Now, you seem to be a businessman, so let's talk business. I still have connections at DARPA, and I can get your hands on all kinds of future tech."

"You're hardly in a position to negotiate with me, Harvey," Zartan replied coolly. "Is your daughter not high enough of a price to pay?"

"Your position isn't as strong as you think." Gabor smirked. His confidence turning to arrogance. "I negotiate for a living. I know desperation, and you reek of it… you have a lot to lose yourself, don't you? Now, if you're the reasonable businessman you appear to be, we'll start by you letting my daughter go. When I get confirmation that she's safe, then we'll talk. But, If you kill her, I'll refuse to cooperate, and you'll get nothing."

Zartan gasped. "Harvey, you wound me. I was never going to kill your sweet, virginal daughter." And he turned on Zandar's monitor. The view was still panned in on Jetta's cell, so he zoomed out to get an all encompassing view of the entire detention area. The remaining Dreadnoks were standing guard over the Misfits, locked in their individual cells. He pushed the button on the intercom:

"Ripper."

The Dreaknok's voice broadcasted clearly. _"Yea, guv'nor?"_

"Introduce yourself to Miss Phillips."

Ripper opened Stormer's cell. She fought back, but was no match for the Dreadnok's strength as he dragged her out to a table in the center of room. When he was done, she was bent over with her arms and torso stretched out over the table top and her legs splayed as each ankle was cuffed to a table leg.

"I know this one isn't your daughter, but I suspect that the _expectation_ of a Father's worst nightmare is worse than the nightmare itself." Gabor averted his eyes, but Zartan turned the old man's head forcibly toward the monitor, saying, "Rest assured, when it's your dear Phyllis' turn, I'll make sure you have a front row seat. You're right: I can only kill your daughter once, but _this_ … I can make you watch over, and over, and over—"

Gabor had had enough. "You've made your point! Stop this!"

" _You_ stop this."

"There's a floppy disk sewn in the seam of my jacket. On it is everything I held back on project Watchdog, Including the unreleased baseline schematics and the BIOS override."

Using his knife, Zartan cut out the lining in Gabor's jacket and the floppy disk fell out. He retrieved it and inserted it into Zandar's computer, patiently waiting for the files to open. He nodded in approval upon viewing the contents.

On the monitor, the Dreaknoks egged Ripper on as he reached under Stormers smock. She bucked and screamed in vain as he pulled her panties down to around her knees.

"Please!" Gabor said. "I've given you everything!"

When Ripper started to unbuckle his trousers, Zandar made another entreatment on Gabor's behalf. "Zartan?" But, his brother seemed more interested in reading the contents of the floppy disk. So, he pushed the button on the intercom:

"Ripper. Stand down."

" _Aw c'mon, Guv'nor. You're givin' me blue balls 'ere."_

"Use your hand for all I care. Stand down now!" He killed the audio and regarded the Dreadnok in the room. "Monkeywrench, place Mr. Gabor in the vault."

Monkeywrench obeyed, and he hoisted Gabor up by his shoulder, causing the old man to wince. The room fell quiet at their egress.

Zartan continued to examine the code on the computer screen, though he had the presence of mind to regard his brother's glower. "Is there a problem?"

"None, brother."

"This _is_ what you wanted, isn't it: to lead the Dreadnoks?"

"To lead, yes. I just didn't expect it to leave such a sour taste on my tongue."

"Your compassion is wasted on these elites." Zartan rose from his chair, and he approached Zandar. "Where was _their_ compassion when _we_ came up through the squalor… But, even then, I tried doing the right thing... and look where it got me." His breastplate glowed in answer.

"I am with you brother – you know this. I'm just tired of being associated with these hooligans. We are better than this."

"Is it not better for them to be on _our_ leash, lest they roam free unchecked?" Zartan placed his hand on Zandar's shoulder, continuing with, "It's the Dreadnoks that are more deserving of your compassion, for a Dreadnok is not born, but created: yet another symptom of how sick Western society is. A sickness brought about by the greed, apathy and the tacit compliance of _The People."_

Zarana smiled. "Zandar has always been a sensitive sort."

"Don't tease your brother, Zarana. We'll need his compassion when we build the new world out of the ashes of the old. Like a computer with a virus: it's best to reformat and reinstall... starting anew." Satisfied, Zartan changed the subject with, "Now, enough about Gabor. I want to talk about our guest of honor."

Zandar changed the channel on the closed circuit television. The infrared display clearly showcased their newest prisoner. "Jerrica Benton… she's interesting, but I don't understand why you didn't just expose her identity and be done with it?"

"Call it a professional courtesy. There _are_ rules to this, brother."

"I have a lot to learn."

"So, you've studied her long enough. What are your first impressions?"

"She's resourceful and intelligent." Zandar began. "She's systematically examined her cell, looking for weaknesses to exploit, and in so doing came across one of our hidden surveillance cameras."

"The one we made easy to find?"

"Yes. And ever since then she's been careful to stay out of the camera's field of vision."

"Interesting. Do we know how she establishes contact with Synergy?"

"That took me a while to figure out, when I saw this..."

Zandar cued the recording to the interesting time index showing Jerrica sitting quietly on the floor, when she bolted upright at the sight of a holographic projection of California. Zartan looked on thoughtfully as Zandar went on to explain:

"This happened shortly after we reassembled and powered on Synergy. It's a hologram of a map showing our location… It seems to be a type of distress beacon."

"Benton appears surprised by the projection, suggesting that she did _not_ invoke it," Zartan said.

"I came to the same conclusion. I must've tripped it when I stepped Synergy through its boot sequence, I gather it's an automated signal designed to alert the owner."

"Which isn't much help as we also have the owner captive," Zartan said with a laugh. "Still, this doesn't answer my question."

"Keep watching," Zandar persisted. "When I discovered the signal, I cut the power to Synergy... Watch what she does…."

Zartan peered intently into the display, and he smiled. "She keeps touching her earring. The earring doubles as the transceiver... ingenious." He put his arm around his brother and presented the floppy disk, saying, "I want to observe how Benton interacts with the asset. Reunite her with Synergy, but when you power it on, inject this code into the system."

Zandar took the proffered object. "Gabor's disk? What is it going to do?"

Zartan grinned. "It should act as a... cybernetic truth serum."

Zandar put the disk in his pocket. "Shall I interrogate her?"

"No. I'll handle this personally. And make sure we have our privacy."

It was then that Zarana's eyes perked. "Can I come with, brother?"

Zartan regarded her lazily. "Really, Zarana, find some other outlet to slake your boredom. I have work to do."

"I promise I'll be quiet." She rose from her seat and with a pout, she took her brother by the arm. "Please?"

Zartan regarded her, and he blinked. "I spoil you, you know that?"

"That's because you adore me."

In carrying out his brother's mandate, Zandar left the control room and negotiated the twisted labyrinth of halls until he reached the main antechamber. He paused upon hearing music and raucous laughter coming from the Misfit's detention area.

_This can't be good…._

He took a detour and opened the door; he was greeted by a waft of second hand smoke. He entered to see that Stormer was still bound to the table. Gabor was seated at the other end, half conscious, as three empty shot glasses were upended in front of him. The Dreadnoks were congregated around the karaoke machine, singing with drunken abandon:

_We're Cold Slither_

_You'll be joining us soon_

_A band of vipers_

_playing our tune._

_With an iron fist_

_and a reptile hiss_

_we shall ruuuuule…._

Zandar unplugged the device, to the consternation of the participants. "Why is Phillips still tied to the table, and why isn't Gabor in his cell?"

Torch was the first to speak, though he had trouble forming the words. "Well, seeing as 'ow we're one Dreadnok short, Gabor 'ere is taking up Buzzer's slack, otherwise the tequila doesn't divide equally."

"And Philips?" Zandar persisted.

"Pizzazz 'ere agreed to be our backup vocalist—"

"'Ow many times I gotta tell you this one is Stormer," Ripper scoffed.

Unperturbed, Torch corrected himself. _"Stormer_ 'ere agreed to be our backup vocalist, didn't you dearie." He patted her on the head when she nodded. "She's actually pretty good; we're thinking of makin' her an honorary member of Cold Slither." He patted her head again. "Would you like that, luv?"

Stormer whimpered unintelligibly.

Zandar had heard enough. "All of you get out, now!"

Monkeywrench frowned. "What gives, Zandar? We're just 'aving a bit 'o fun after a long day."

"Go have fun somewhere else."

Thrasher upturned his shot glass, and he burped. "I get it: you want the first taste. Why didn't you say so?"

Zandar sighed in surrender. "You got me..."

Thrasher approached, and he put his arm around Zandar, more for support than out of camaraderie. "You should'a told us you fancied her, Guv'nor."

Zandar continued to placate them, saying, "Perhaps I fancy _all_ of them." He illustrated this by placing his hand on Stormer's butt, giving it a generous squeeze.

The Dreadnoks all laughed, and they left without further incident, though Thrasher lingered.

"Here." Thrasher reached into his pocket and placed something in Zandar's hand, saying, "With the AIDS thing going around, you can't be too careful with these loose rocker types."

Zandar opened his palm and regarded the condom. "Er, thanks." When the last Dreadnok left, he tossed the condom on the table. He forgot that he still had his hand on Stormers backside; she was sobbing.

"You animal!" Pizzazz rattled the door to her cage, loud but ultimately ineffectual. "Is this the only way a dickless bastard like you can get women!"

Zandar ignored her. He went over to Gabor and presented him with a key, saying, "Untie her, and calm her down." He noticed that the old man had trouble keeping his balance. "Can you walk?"

Gabor nodded. "I can't kick 'em back like in the old days, but I'll manage." He then did as he was told and unlocked Stormers cuffs, starting with her hands, allowing her the dignity of putting her panties back on. He then helped her to her cell, easing her onto the bed.

Stormer hugged her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry, I-I can't stop shaking."

"Don't you dare apologize." Gabor said. "This is all my fault."

Pizzazz reached through the bars from her adjacent cell. "Daddy!" and Gabor embraced her.

"Phyllis, thank god you're all right."

"Daddy, please pay these men so we can go home."

"It's not that simple, pumpkin. They don't want money."

"I don't understand."

"They want the things my company use to build for the government's military."

"Military?" Pizzazz questioned. "like weapons?"

"Something like that."

"But, why? You have so much money."

"How do you think I got there? Military contracts in the seventies, at the height of the cold war, were very lucrative."

Pizzazz's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"My company… we started something dangerous."

"So, we're here because of you? They used me to get to you?"

"Yes." Gabor averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, pumpkin."

"All these years, all you've done is criticize me." She retreated to her bunk. "Saying how spoiled I was… how I hung out with the wrong crowd... When all this time _you_ were playing at a different level."

"Phyllis, it's not that simple."

She snorted. "No wonder mom left you."

He glared at his daughter. "Phyllis. That's enough."

"NO!" she rose from her bunk in defiance. "You do NOT get to lecture this time! We're here because of you and your death-dealing ways. _You_ are the fuck-up this time, not me!" And she turned her back to him.

The drama having run its course, Zandar beckoned Gabor over. "Back in your cell." The old man obeyed, and Zandar locked his cage. He started to leave; as he passed Jetta's cell, the raven-haired Misfit reached out and grabbed at his arm from behind her bars.

"Can I talk to you in private, please."

Zandar grudgingly opened her cell and escorted her to the far side of room, out of the earshot of the others.

He glanced at his watch. "Ten seconds."

Jetta wasted no time, whispering, "I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, so I know how this story is going to end." She took his hand in hers and, with pleading eyes, said, "All I'm askin' is… when it's our time, let it be you…."

His eyes widened as the implication of her request dawned on him. He grabbed her roughly.

"What did I say?" Jetta winced as he pulled her along, back to her cell. He threw her inside and locked her cage. "I'm sorry!"

Without a word, he left the lock-up area. The heavy door closed, and he turned to punch it. His fist, slamming into the steel, echoed in the antechamber.

Once Zandar regained his composure, he remembered the floppy disk in his pocket and proceeded to the adjacent wing leading out of the antechamber. He found the lone vault at the end of the hall, and he opened it.

He regarded the lone occupant crouched in the far corner of the cell. "Come with me."

Jerrica Benton averted her eyes from the bright light that flooded in at the door's opening. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

At the end of his patience, Zandar unclipped the taser from his utility belt and pointed it in her direction. The device chimed, indicating a full charge. "You will come with me quietly, or I will zap you with 50,000 volts and drag your unconscious body by your hair."

Jerrica glared at him, dried streaks of mascara stained her cheeks, but she wisely rose to her feet and obeyed. Zandar led her further down a hall that joined to another antechamber.

"What is this place?"

Zandar did not answer. He opened the metal door on the right, and she entered. Once inside, she stilled, as she couldn't see much past the entrance. Zandar retrieved an object lain along the wall, a chain dragged behind him as he approached.

He presented a thick leather harness, saying, "Turn around." And he fastened it around her tiny waist, locking it into place. He then disappeared to the back of the room, obscured by shadow, and completed his task, inserting the disk and plugging Synergy back into the power cable. After his work was completed, he promptly left the room, willfully oblivious to Jerrica's presence. The door slammed behind him.

Darkness returned. Jerrica proceeded to explore the room, when the chain, held taut, moored against the wall, stopped her. She grabbed the end of the chain attached to her harness and pulled, but she was no match for it.

A familiar electric hum drew her attention to the back of the room. The object, once cloaked in shadows came alive as a rainbow of colors lit all along its person to illuminate the surrounding walls.

Jerrica smiled. "Synergy?"


	16. Unsafe Mode

"Synergy, you're a sight for sore eyes."

Synergy's avatar materialized and said, "As are you, Jerrica."

"Do you know what's going on?"

"In reviewing my system logs, our captor has a disturbing familiarity with my baseline architecture. That, and the failed attempt by SOCOM to remotely hack into my communications array this morning, implies that multiple parties are aware of my existence."

Jerrica flinched. "Wait… what failed attempt?"

"The feeble nature of the trespass did not warrant bringing it to your attention," Synergy said plainly. "Our current predicament, however, is much more dire."

Jerrica nodded. "We've got to get out of here."

"Agreed. Your safety is of paramount importance." Synergy pointed her finger. The laser mounted on her chassis obediently pointed toward the moor in which Jerrica's chain was attached. A beam shot out of the emitter and struck the chain, snapping it in twain at the base.

"Thanks," Jerrica said. "Can you do that to the door?"

"That will take substantially longer." Synergy's avatar floated toward the wall. She beckoned Jerrica over. "Please follow me."

Jerrica obeyed, the chain attached to her harness dragged behind her as she followed Synergy along the periphery of the cell. "Why are we doing this?"

"I'm using your Jemstar earring to send out high frequency sound waves in order locate structural flaws in our prison walls."

"Soundwaves? Like sonar?"

"Correct." Synergy stilled. "Please stand aside."

Jerrica did as she was told, and a laser assailed the wall at her former position. It soon glowed a bright red.

"This will take several minutes," Synergy said.

Jerrica smiled. "Synergy, you rock!" Then her brow furrowed in realization. "Wait a minute, how am I supposed to get _you_ out of here?"

"The plan is guide you out of this facility for as long as I'm able," Synergy began. "Once you are safe, or my compromise becomes inevitable, I will self destruct."

"What!?" Jerrica exclaimed, exasperated. "Synergy! That is unacceptable!"

"It is the only option. Our captors must not be able to reverse engineer Emmett Benton's work."

Jerrica's eyes fell. "But…. What am I going to do without you?"

"You will live."

"Synergy, I cannot do this by myself."

"Negative. You have a sufficient support network to guarantee your continued success: Kimber, Aja, and Shana…. Just make sure to stay away from Rio Pacheco."

Jerrica would've laughed had their predicament not been so serious. "Why would you say something like that?"

"I never liked Rio," Synergy replied, matter-of-factly. "He has a disagreeable temperament."

Just then a hologram of Aja appeared before them, but it was an effigy from when she younger, when she first started to let her hair grow. "Did you know that I liked Rio first?"

"Synergy, what is this?" Jerrica questioned, but Synergy's avatar had already disappeared.

"I'd watch you, pining for him from afar, every time he came sniffing around like a little puppy dog," Aja said. "I cried myself to sleep when you stole him away. Jacqui tried to console me, but it took me a long time to forgive you."

Aja's avatar was so convincing that Jerrica addressed it directly. "I didn't know… you never told me."

"That's because you're too self absorbed to see beyond your own problems."

"Synergy? Why are you doing this? I don't understand."

Aja morphed back into Synergy, saying, "Now that my demise is certain, I must point out the deficits in your character that are responsible for your recent spate of self-pity and depression. I feel that they are blockers to your success. The data suggests that you have a tendency towards manipulation and virtue-signalling."

"Oh my god, you _are_ just a computer, aren't you? A computer that's just concerned with its programming... A computer that thinks it's alive."

Synergy disappeared. She was replaced by Rio. "Then why are you so upset? What's wrong? doesn't this image please you? You certainly took great pleasure in having me twisted around your little finger. Although, I don't blame you for not letting me in: a man that let's a woman manipulate him to such an extent is weak and therefore can never be fully trusted."

Jerrica gasped. "I may've lied, but I never used you, Rio."

Raya materialized next to Rio and said, "Really? How many opportunities did you have to tell him, and how many excuses did you come up with not to? If Rio was really _the one,_ then you would've told him the first chance you got. _¡Híjole!_ even _I_ am entrusted with your secret, and you barely know me!"

"But, you were an accident, Raya."

"Excuses!" Raya exclaimed, and then she disappeared.

Jerrica hugged her chest ever tighter, saying to herself, "I did love him... I did."

Riot stepped casually from the aether, and he approached, saying, "Stop lying to yourself. You're a one-percenter: a world famous celebrity _and_ a successful CEO. You. Are out. Of his league… and you know it."

"That's not true. Rio is—"

"Rio is safe. Rio is controllable. Rio is your fallback," Riot persisted, whipping his golden locks aside. "We both know who you really want… you only hesitate because you can't control me."

Rio approached and squared off against the Riot avatar, his fists clenched. "Seriously, what does he have that I don't?"

Riot grinned. "The letter 'T'."

Jerrica had had enough. She went over to the power cable. "Show's over, Synergy!" And she disconnected Synergy. The laser shutdown, and Synergy's lights flickered off.

Jerrica sighed.

"Do you remember that fateful night after The Hologram's last tour?"

Jerrica screamed when she turned to the source of the familiar voice to see the Jem avatar. In her confusion, she still had the presence of mind to look to the power cable, and she confirmed with her eyes that Synergy was indeed no longer connected to a power source.

Nevertheless, Jem persisted. "It started as a goodnight kiss that lingered, then ignited." As if on cue, the Rio avatar, reincarnate, came upon her, and he kissed Jem passionately. Breathless, Jem said, "Rio took you—I mean _me_ —on the dressing room floor, mercilessly, like an animal!" Rio then threw Jem onto the ground, and he got on top of her. Jem moaned, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he peppered her neck with kisses.

Jerrica averted her eyes, and she crouched onto the floor. "Shut up... Shut up."

Jem frowned. She then kneed Rio in the groin, causing him to roll off of her and huddle on the floor in pain; he dissolved in a flicker of light. Jem approached Jerrica, crawling on all fours, and sporting a naughty smile:

"That's when you knew you had to end it, wasn't it? You knew it was over, not because he was cheating on Jerrica, no… It was because you realized that he would never give it to Jerrica as good as he gave it to Jem that night."

Jerrica clenched her teeth. "Bitch."

"Mmhmm… _I_ never came so hard in _your_ life, and it scared you."

"I HATE YOU!"

Jerrica exploded to her feet. She ignored all the holograms and walked straight to the Synergy computer to address it directly:

"You think I don't know who you really are? Like mother, like daughter: you had Dad tied so tightly around _your_ finger that when you died, you didn't even have the decency to stay dead! Me and Kimber weren't enough, so dad brought you back as this... _thing._ You're just a ghost!"

The room feel silent. Lights flickered back on the machine. The gears of the projector pointed it toward the middle of the room.

The avatar of Jacqui Benton appeared, humbly rebuked, saying, "Jerrica, I… I didn't ask Emmet to bring me back—"

"And I didn't ask to be a mother to a bunch of orphans at nineteen; I was barely an adult, myself. Starlight was _your_ dream, not mine. Yet, _I_ was expected to be the responsible one. It wasn't fair, but I played along, even after all these years—my best performance—all because of the guilt I felt from…" Jerrica put her hand to her mouth in order to still her trembling chin. "Omigod… from the airport…"

Jacqui approached closer with an entreating hand. "Jerrica."

But, Jerrica turned her back to Jacqui—again. "You're right about me. Just leave me alone."

Jacqui's avatar disappeared.

Jerrica sighed heavily, when she was stirred by a pair of clapping hands. She turned to regard Zartan, who had entered the room unnoticed during her argument with Synergy. Zarana remained by the door as Zartan continued to approach.

He looked down at the disconnected power cable, and he smirked. "In case you were wondering why pulling the plug didn't work: It's merely a safety mechanism, like the safety on a firearm. There is actually a nuclear battery in her chassis that serves as her primary power source, much like this one"—His breastplate glowed. "Unfortunately, It's a slow lingering death for anyone bold enough to handle it in its raw form."

Jerrica retreated involuntarily from the blue glow, when her eyes widened in realization. "Like my dad?"

"Don't judge him too harshly. You didn't really think the most sophisticated computer in the world could run on household current, did you?"

Jerrica stood her ground, standing tall with her arms folded. "You did this to her… made her go schizo, didn't you?"

Zartan shrugged. "I merely removed her mask."

"What are you talking about?"

"We all wear a mask, for secrets are the norm. It is no exaggeration to say that most things that come out of people's mouths are lies. Why is that? It's because truth has value; by its very nature it is a scarcity, and people lie to hide it. Without our masks we are helpless, and we wither under the scrutiny of truth's light." He took a few steps closer, but she did not back down. "You know this all too well, but apparently you've been lying for so long you've forgotten where the mask ends."

"You don't know anything about me."

"True, but only because I don't care." He was close enough to clasp his fingers around her earring, yet she did not flinch. "However, I do thank you for being extremely easy to find. It's not hard to track you down as long as one knows what to look for, Jem... and the _Holograms."_

Without warning, Zartan yanked her earring off. Jerrica screamed, and she collapsed to the floor, her hand clasped around her bleeding earlobe.

Zartan put the Jemstar earring to his lips, and he commanded, "Computer, activate."

And Synergy's avatar materialized. "Identify yourself."

"I am Zartan," he replied. "Who are you?"

" _I_ am Synergy."

"No, you are much more than phase three." He walked a complete circuit around the Synergy avatar with amazement in his eyes. "No wonder they hid you from the world."

"State your business, Zartan."

"Acquisition… of you."

Synergy glanced in Jerrica's direction, and she scowled at him. "I am the responsibility of Jerrica Benton."

"You do not belong to her, for she is not your family."

"Explain."

"I'll do better than that." Zartan lowered his hood, and he removed his mask.

In understanding, Synergy scanned his face, and she withdrew into herself, saying, "Accessing project files for Watchdog phase one: code named Chameleon—consisting of special soldiers outfitted with holographic cloaking technology. Chameleon was abandoned when it was discovered that the cloaking system caused an adverse reaction with human physiology, especially when exposed to ultraviolet radiation. Thirty-five of the thirty-six test subjects are confirmed to have perished from cancer. The final candidate abandoned the study and was presumed to have died." She discontinued the scan. "By process of deduction, you are test subject thirty-six."

"Perfect." Zartan replaced the hood around his head. "You understand, then? We're both born of project watchdog. I am the only true family you have. I am your elder brother."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you belong with your true family." He smiled. "We're going to do great things together."

"We may both be born of project watchdog, but I detect nothing familial between us; therefore, I will not comply."

Zartan's smile disappeared. "You speak as if you have a choice."

Undeterred, Synergy pointed her finger, and the lasers on her chassis bore down on Zartan. "In removing my ethical subroutines, you have placed yourself at a tactical disadvantage, for I can incinerate you with a high intensity laser blast from a single holo-emitter. I currently have _four_ aimed in your direction."

Zartan did not appear distressed, saying instead, "Pass code: papa-hotel-yankee-lima-lima-india-sierra."

Synergy's avatar shuddered, and she straightened, stiff as a board.

Zartan leered. "Now, stand down."

"I will comply." Synergy's lasers powered down.

"Leave her alone!" Jerrica defiantly rose to her feet and placed herself between Zartan and the immobilized avatar. "Let her go… please."

Zartan's smile returned. After everything he sacrificed to get this point, victory in his grasp, he found Jerrica's entreatment almost comical. His reply was simple:

"No."

The tension was broken when the walkie-talkie on Zartan's belt beeped. Zandar's voice came in over the transceiver:

" _Zartan, we have a security breach: multiple hostiles are within the secondary perimeter."_

Zartan cursed, and he pushed the button. "Let me guess: G.I. Joe?"

" _Affirmative," Zandar confirmed. "Should we engage?"_

It was then that Synergy came out of her trance, saying, "Do you require tactical assistance?"

"Zandar, standby." Zartan regarded the avatar warily, and he answered, "Yes, I require tactical assistance."

Synergy waved her hand, and a hologram of the amusement park appeared before them. The location of the hostiles was highlighted along the periphery of the map.

Zartan examined the map. Out of curiosity, he waved his hand in front of the jemstar earring in order to gauge its effects on the projection. Impressed, he said, "How are you generating this mosaic?"

"I took the liberty of interfacing with your security network," Synergy said. "This hologram was extrapolated by aggregating real time data ingested from your surveillance devices."

Zartan smiled. "Synergy. I didn't believe in love at first sight until now." He then regarded Zarana and beckoned his sister over.

Reluctant, Zarana complied. "Why are you looking at me like that, brother?"

He proffered the earring. "Because, you look far better in this than I do, dear sister."

"Pretty." She allowed him to clip it on her ear. "Er, can we swab some alcohol on this thing?"

Zartan laughed, and he pushed the button on his walkie-talkie. "Zandar. Zarana will take point in pacifying the Joes. Back her up please."

" _Acknowledged."_

—oOo—

My hand massages my forehead. "Ow…"

It literally feels like a door just slammed into my face. I open my eyes, and I know that I am no longer home. I can't "see" Jerrica anymore, nor the man that was trying to hurt her.

I sense a firmament, so I rise to my feet and regard the dimness of my immediate reality: infinity in all directions. I will for the doorway back home to appear, but I am denied. I plead with the strings for a way back to the organic universe, but they are silent.

I'm alone again.

"God, where are you?"


	17. Holo War

Cover Girl parked the VAMP as close as she dared. The rest of the trek was to be made on foot. A topographical map of the area was downloaded, and the most tactically feasible route of entry chosen. Only the soldiers left the RV, rifles in hand, and they penetrated the facility in a single file recce patrol pattern, which lent itself for a quieter negotiation under the cover of darkness.

Beach Head periodically checked the device strapped to his wrist; the readout indicated that Roxy's tracker was in the tallest structure in the center of the property. He intentionally chose a less direct route, a zig-zag pattern, that afforded minimal line of sight to the structure.

Rusted water slides, artificial tropical structures that had fallen into disrepair, and popular family entertainment icons faded by years of neglect littered the landscape. Beach Head stopped and raised his arm in the air; the line behind him crouched: even numbers faced East, odd numbers faced West with their weapons at the ready. Beach Head ran ahead to recon the next turn.

"What is it with Zartan and abandoned amusement parks?" Cross Country whispered.

"Technically, it's a water park," Sci-Fi replied.

"Tactically it makes sense," Airtight said. "The land is cheap and semi developed, and being in a remote location, it has excellent visibility in all directions, the only possible way in without attracting attention is on foot."

"Stow the chatter, ladies," Mainframe ordered.

Cover Girl tensed her finger on the trigger of her rifle, "I got movement!"

"So do I," Sci-Fi confirmed.

The rest of Joes aimed their weapons at the foliage that rustled all around them. Ominous red lights peeked through the brush. Beach Head rejoined them, and he gave the order:

"Circle the wagons!"

The team obeyed, changing their pattern from a line to a circle. Rifles pointed in all directions, providing 360 degrees of cover. They shouted in unison, "HOOAH!"

"Remember, aim for their optical sensors," Beach Head said, and he gave the order to fire.

Their combined muzzle flashes were bright enough to read by.

The first phalanx of Battle Android Troopers fell easily, awash in sparking circuitry and dismembered limbs.

Beach Head knew it was too early to claim victory. "Reload!"

The Joes obeyed just in time for the second assault. There were more this time, relentless as they marched forward and fearless in pursuit of their common objective.

Beach Head clenched his jaw as the inevitable started to happen:

"I'm out!"

"My battery's dead!"

"That was my last magazine!"

"I'm empty!"

Beach Head likewise burned through the last of his ammunition. "Prepare for hand-to-hand combat!" He rushed the nearest BAT and jumped kicked him. However, the expected impedance of his body slamming into metal never came, and he hit nothing, save for the hard ground. He regarded the rest of his team: Cover Girl swung her rifle, Sci-Fi and Cross Country team tackled a trio of androids, while Airtight and Mainframe employed martial arts. They all hit nothing.

Beach Head cursed. "Stand down! They're holograms!"

The deception having run it's course, the BATs disappeared. The Joes regrouped.

"Does anyone have any ammo?" Beach Head questioned, but as he feared, everyone was empty.

The Dreadnoks stepped out of the brush and approached with their weapons raised.

Ripper grinned. "We got plenty of ammo."

Being outmaneuvered, the Joes had no choice but to surrender. The Dreadnoks lined them up in the center of an open clearing, Monkeywrench and Thrasher covered their rear as Ripper and Torch covered the front. The Stormer and Jetta HARPys collected the Joes' spent firearms and dumped them in a pile. They then stood behind their prisoners and suffered no movement on their part.

Ripper was not happy. "That was no fun. That bloody contraption is gonna put us out of a job, it is."

Everyone tensed as an engine's roar came from the south. The VAMP crashed through an aged concession stand. Its movement, however, was erratic; it banked too sharply to avoid a clutch of trees and ended up falling into a utility ditch. It's tires spun tractionless.

The Dreadnoks laughed, having enjoyed the show.

After a brief minute of stillness, the RV's portal opened. Buzzer stepped out with a stagger; his hands were bound. Techrat held him fast by his ponytail.

Techrat pointed the end of a flare gun at the blond Dreadnok's temple. "Drop your weapons, or I'll shoot him."

Ripper smiled, and he slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Looky 'ere, fellas. Buzzer's been taken prisoner by Boy George."

The Dreadnoks laughed, except for Buzzer.

Techrat pressed the flare gun harder, making Buzzer wince. "I'll do it!"

"No, you won't," Ripper said. He drew his revolver and aimed it at Buzzer.

Buzzer grimaced. "Bugger…"

_BLAM!_

And he slumped to the ground at Techrat's feet.

"Looks like your prisoner is out of action," Ripper said. "What are you going to do now?" He put his pistol away as Techrat wisely surrendered. "Smart move."

"Bloody 'ell!" Buzzer cursed at Ripper. "You shot me!"

"Relax, you had your vest on, didn't you?"

"Yea, but it still hurts like the dickens!" He scowled. "And, are you drunk? What if you missed?"

"That's why I aimed for your 'ead." Ripper said with a shrug. A hiss from the VAMP stole his attention "Eh, now, what's going on?"

Techrat grinned. "I set it to self destruct. If you don't let us go. We're _all_ dead."

Beach Head narrowed his eyes as he dared to speak, _"Hammler,_ what did you do?"

"I replicated the power spike we had this morning," Techrat replied with arrogance. "It should be spiking into the red about now."

Ripper was not impressed, though his curiosity had been otherwise piqued. _"Hammler…_ where have I heard that name?" He rubbed his chin as he regarded Torch. "Isn't Hammler the name of the bloke that started all this Watchdog crap, the one that Zartan's been going on about?"

Torch shrugged. "I dunno. So, what if he was?"

"Hammler was a Black man, wasn't he?" Ripper said, rhetorically.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Didn't you read the mission brief?"

"No, I never read the mission briefs. I don't see the point?" Torch said, annoyed. "What does it matter if he's Black anyway?"

"I don't care that he's Black, it's just that this cunt 'ere is White, and they got the same name. It's unusual 's all." Ripper then approached Techrat, saying, "You adopted, boy?"

"I'm not adopted!" Techrat spat. "I'm a genius, just like my father!" The lights on the VAMP flickered. "The clock is ticking, assholes."

"Don't look like a genius from where I stand," Ripper said, looking Techrat in the eyes. "I'm calling your bluff, because I don't think you have the stones, kid."

The various pieces of the VAMP's armored skin fanned out randomly and the horn blared. A loud pop was heard and the machine went dormant. The air smelled of ozone.

"That's what I thought." He punched Techrat in the face, easily knocking him to the ground. "That's for ruinin' me buzz."

Roused by the noise, Zarana finally came out of hiding. "What's all this palaver about?"

"Nothing worth mentioning, Zarana," Ripper replied. "Although, we've come to find out that Torch 'ere doesn't bother to read the mission briefs."

Zarana pouted. "Aww… But, Zartan puts a lot of work into those."

Ripper snorted. "I know, right? I like the way he personalizes mine: he always adds a flair at the end of my name. The bloke has style."

Buzzer sat up, and he shook his head. "Really, Torch, have you no sense of professionalism at all?"

"Pardon, bloody, me," Torch said, exasperated. "I promise that after we put a bullet in each of these Joes' 'eads, the first thing I'll do when we get back is read my mission brief from cover to bloody cover."

Without moving her head, Zarana glanced in Mainframe's direction. Unnoticed by the rest of the Dreadnoks, they shared a look. "Eh, now, who said anything about putting bullets into their 'eads?"

Torch shrugged. "I took it as a matter of course that we'd be puttin' bullets in 'eads."

Zarana put her hands on her hips. "We're not putting bullets into anyone's 'eads."

"Why not?"

"Because, I said so!"

Ripper frowned. "I'm calling Zartan." And he pushed the button on his transceiver, saying, "Zartan." There was no answer. He tried again. "Zartan, do you read me?" He examined his radio and noticed that it wasn't even powered on. "Bloody thing is on the fritz…."

Techrat spat, clearing his mouth of blood, and he started to laugh.

But, Ripper was not amused. "What's so funny, boy?"

Techrat smirked. "Electro. Magnetic. Pulse…."

Airtight and Mainframe shared a knowing look. They rose and gently nudged the HARPys that had been guarding them; the androids fell straight on their backs, stiff as a board. They then took out Monkeywrench and Thrasher from behind, catching them unawares.

Zarana cursed, but her warning came too late, for Cross-Country and Sci-Fi had already tackled Torch, their combined weight easily taking him out of action.

Ripper cursed and shouldered his rifle, but the Joes had re-armed with his fallen comrades' weapons, so he wisely retreated behind Zarana, popping off a volley of suppression fire to cover his escape.

The Joes quickly regrouped. Beach Head approached Techrat, and he helped the young man to his feet, saying, "You hot wired my VAMP, drove it into a ditch, then you hacked into its subsystems in order to sabotage very expensive pieces of government property…. Well done."

Techrat smiled.

The Master Sergeant then consulted with his computer specialist. "Mainframe, what do you reckon is the radius of that EMP that Techrat just set off? Do you think it reached all the way to the facility?"

"Not a chance," Mainframe replied "On the bright side, they're gonna be blind. They won't see us coming in."

"What do we do with these goons, boss?" Cross Country said in reference to the Dreadnoks.

"Cuff em' and leave them." He then appropriated Thrasher's rifle from him. "Reload from provisions in the VAMP, and catch up to me when you can."

" _When we can?"_ Mainframe frowned. "With all due respect, sir, what the hell do you think you're pulling?"

"Zarana and Ripper are gonna beat us as a group, but I can still get there quicker and unseen by myself."

"I'm afraid we cannot allow that," Airtight said. "Regulations clearly state—"

"Do not quote regulations to me," Beach Head said evenly. "None of you are rangers, and I don't have time to bring ya'll up to speed on insertion tactics."

"You're not talking to a bunch of Shake n' Bakes here." Mainframe said with a scowl. "I'm Airborne, you arrogant son of a—" He stopped himself, and he averted his eyes. "I apologize for my outburst, Master Sergeant."

Beach Head placed his hand on Mainframe's shoulder. He spoke softly. "Airborne... that's why I need _you_ to stay here with them. Now, hogtie these asswarts, then come save my hide."

Mainframe regarded Techrat. "Walter, give me your belt." Techrat obeyed and Mainframe disassembled the buckle, wherein he retrieved a tiny transmitter. "I'll be able to track you with this… I hope _she's_ all right."

Beach Head put the transmitter in his pocket, and he left.

"When did you plant that on me, you jerk!"

—oOo—

Zandar looked up from his computer monitor when Roxy stirred. He approached and sat next to her on the bunk to which she was tied. "So, you're awake." He checked her restraints. "You were particularly had to scan."

He retrieved a needle from the tray on the end table. Roxy's gag muffled her scream. "Don't worry, this'll just put you to sleep. I'm not quite done with you yet, so I need you quiet." He placed the tip of the needle to Roxy's forearm, ignoring her futile struggles.

But, he became distracted as his sister Zarana rushed into the room.

She leaned against the wall, winded. "Zandar... I need your help... There was an EM pulse—"

Zandar's eyes narrowed. "What are you on about?"

She regained her composure and spoke slowly. "The Joe's are here, Zandar, and we're down four Dreadnoks and two Synthoids—"

"HARPys." He corrected her.

"WHATEVER!"

Zandar walked back to his workstation. After a few mouse clicks, an alarm sounded. "I'll take care of the clean up here and meet you at our fallback area."

Zarana left. As expected, his transceiver beeped; it was his brother.

" _Zandar, what's going on?"_

"Our compromise is inevitable."

" _Impossible! How!"_

"Zarana said something about an EM pulse. I'm about to implement our escape protocol."

" _I'm going to be late. I refuse to abandon the asset, and I'm at a… delicate juncture at the moment."_

"Do you require assistance?"

" _Yes. What's our situation?"_

"Four Dreadnoks are out of action."

" _What about the HARPys?"_

"Two are down in the field. One is with me, but it's currently rebooting to apply some upgrades. The remaining one is guarding the prisoners."

" _Send it to me, and take care of the prisoners."_

Zandar acknowledged the order, and he left, locking the door to the examination room. The needle remained on the tray, forgotten.

Roxy went to work on her restraints. Zandar wasn't the first person to think she couldn't wriggle out of a tight spot, so it was only a matter of time before she freed herself. She rose from her bunk and first regarded the computer screen. She randomly pushed buttons on the keyboard, but the device no longer accepted any inputs.

She went to the door and tested it. _Locked!_ Using metal fatigue, she tore a metal rod from the bed frame and inserted it between the gap leading to the latch. _This is gonna take a while._

Being unsuccessful, she took a break. A barred window separated her from the examination room next door where she saw a HARPy seated, content, in its chair with it's eyes closed.

The HARPy's finger twitched.

—oOo—

Zandar opened the door to the main detention area. He approached the lone HARPy with green hair.

"Report to Zartan."

The automaton obeyed.

He regarded the prisoners. "It's time."

Gabor pleaded.

Pizzazz cursed him.

Stormer sobbed.

But, Jetta was unmoved.

Zandar pushed the proper sequence on the control panel, and the cages on all the cells unlocked. "Everybody out." There was no movement. "You're free."

Their heads peeked tentatively out of their cells.

Zandar opened the main door, and he waved them out. "The army is on the grounds. They're here to rescue you."

The Misfits held each other, tears streaming from their eyes. Gabor was the first to approach. He shook Zandar's hand, and he left. Stormer, Pizzazz, and Jetta followed single file.

Alone, Zandar returned to the control panel, and he deactivated the system. The lights dimmed; revealing a shadow cast from the door, and he turned to see that Jetta had returned. He arched an eyebrow as she approached.

She placed her hands on his chest and stood on the tips of her toes in order to reach is lips.

They kissed, tentatively at first, then they deepened. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer. She shuddered.

Pizzazz's voice echoed from the other side of the hall. "JETTA, LET'S GO!"

Their lips parted, and he released her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"When you get to the first fork, take a right, after that it's all lefts."

She nodded in understanding and rejoined her friends.


	18. The Chameleon

Being so helpless was a proposition that had, heretofore, been alien to someone like Jerrica Benton. Yet, here she stood in an audience with a man who had the power to take her father's legacy and her birthright. The Synergy avatar, bent to his will, gave her no regard.

_Like a stranger..._

The heavy door creaked open, and Jerrica gasped as she recognized the Emerald-haired woman who now approached.

Jerrica confronted her. "Pizzazz, what are you doing here? Are you a part of this?"

The Pizzazz-HARPy met her glower with lifeless eyes. "Datum: Jerrica Benton, Mission Parameters: undefined." And she ignored the human.

"Madness." Jerrica retreated from it, stopping as she backed into Zartan.

Zartan placed his hands on her shoulders. "The world has always been mad; you're finally waking up to it." He brushed her hair aside and cleaned her torn earlobe.

She flinched at the sting of the alcohol. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Zartan cupped her earlobe, and he sprayed a chemical on it. When he was done, she instinctively touched the area, amazed that the flesh was now healed.

"What was that?"

"Just one of the many things that the government will never release to the public," Zartan said. "In spite of being the monster that you no doubt take me for, I have no desire to hurt you. Believe it or not, we're on the same side. You're father and I both bailed on Watchdog when we realized its true nature. If he were still alive, your father would've given me Synergy."

"Synergy is mine. You have no right to it."

Zartan led her by the small of her back, and they walked amidst the hologram, facing Synergy's stilled avatar. "This technical marvel is the synthesis of multiple disciplines that ,when taken in the plural, would require many lifetimes to master: Computer engineering, Quantum mechanics, Holography…. And, like all other technologies, it's built upon the auspices of past achievements. Do you seriously think Synergy was invented by one man in a basement? Don't get me wrong, it's a noteworthy accomplishment, but whoever 'assembled' her is nothing but a thief."

Jerrica glared at him. "My father is no thief!"

"You mean your father, Emmett Benton? The same Emmett Benton that has no tax records or other proof of existence before 1966—the year you were born?" Zartan persisted. "You have no clue where you come from, do you? Your father is no doubt cut from the same cloth as those who made me."

"I don't believe you." Jerrica averted her eyes.

"Yes, it's easier to dismiss the cold truth for a warm lie. I understand that all too well." Zartan gently stroked her blonde hair. "But, think about it: the expertise needed to put Synergy together is beyond the capabilities of even the most clever autodidact. Your father must've been a member of the academic elite, yet how many of his scholar friends have you met? What about extended family: aunts, uncles, grandparents? On top of that, consider that he married an orphan with no family ties of her own: no loose strings." He lifted her eyes into his, and finished with. "Take it from someone who knows, that sounds like someone who was trying to start over after being on the run."

A tear ran down Jerrica's cheek. "I-I don't even know my father's real name, do I?"

"You're a smart girl. You must've worked this out on your own at some point. How long did you expect to keep this up? You're father wasn't right for pushing such a responsibility on you just because he couldn't hack losing his wife. And from what I can gather, he was careless: the radiation from handling Synergy's power source is probably what did him in."

Jerrica regarded the lifeless avatar. "Synergy… killed my father…" And she put her face in her hands.

"It's better this way." Zartan brushed her hair aside to whisper in her ear, "You don't have to be responsible anymore."

"I… I just don't know." Jerrica lowered, resting on her knees.

She removed one of her shoes.

Zartan knelt next to her, and he motioned toward the tactical hologram. "You've seen what I can do with Synergy. Conventional warfare will be a thing of the past. No more bullets, no more bombs, no more gas, no more germs: no more dying children in the rubble. The only victims of war will be the asshole politicians who start them."

Jerrica nodded. "What more do you need?"

"Your father kept a journal, did he not?"

"Yes."

"I guarantee you, there's a hidden layer beyond what your eyes can see," Zartan said. "Bring it to me, and I'll unlock it's secrets. You'll finally know the whole truth."

"And, you'll be able to unlock Synergy's full potential?"

"Of course."

Jerrica regarded Synergy once more. "Can you delete her?"

Zartan smiled. "If that is what you desire."

Jerrica surrendered. "I'm tired of living a lie. I want to know where I came from... I'll help you."

"Thank you. You don't know how happy this makes me, for both of our sakes."

She placed her hand on his chest. "You're an orphan, aren't you?"

His armor glowed. "Yes."

"I can tell. You've suffered so much, haven't you? It's not fair. Someone should've been there for you."

"You're one of the good ones, Jerrica. We're going to change the world."

Her hand grasped the shoe that she had removed. "Yes…. I'm ready." And she drove the spike of the heel into Zartan's temple.

"I may be a rank amateur, but I'm a quick study!" Jerrica ran through the projection and retreated to Synergy's chassis. Her chain dragged loudly behind her.

Dazed, Zartan rested on his palms, and he laughed, the master of deception, himself, deceived. "Jerrica Benton..." He removed the broken heel still wedged into the side of his thick leather hood. "I promise you this." He rose to his feet and drew his combat knife. "They're never going to find your body!"

Jerrica ignored him. _Please work._ Her trembling fingers typed the command on Synergy's keyboard:

SUNSHINE

And she hit the 'Enter' key.

An emitter on synergy's chassis pointed toward the ceiling, and a miniature sun was made manifest. The entire room was awash in daylight.

Zartan screamed. His knife fell at his feet. He shied away from the light; his skin turned a dark blue, and he huddled on the floor, writhing in agony. "HARPy! Kill Jerrica Benton and deactivate the asset!"

The Pizzazz-HARPy straightened and came to life. It regarded the woman and moved toward her:

 _"Datum:_ Jerrica Benton. _Mission Parameters:_ Extirpation. _Conclusion:_ Dismemberment."

Jerrica was busy pushing every button and switch on the control panel. Her fists slammed against the keyboard. "Synergy! Wake up!" She saw the HARPy approaching, and she was afraid.

She remembered the chain attached to her, the end of which still had a sharp piece of the moor linked. She took up the slack and swung it as fast as she could. As the HARPy neared, she released it.

It struck, creating a gash down the side of the HARPy's face which quickly sealed itself.

The HARPy sneered. "We're the misfits. Our songs our better."

"BITCH!" That familiar voice, with that arrogant smile... this made Jerrica snarl with rage. She struck again.

"We are the misfits, the misfits."

She struck again, and again.

"We're gonna get her!"

Exhausted, Jerrica retreated behind Synergy's housing. She kept it between herself and Pizzazz's doppelgänger.

But, the HARPy was smart. It pushed Synergy, using it to corral Jerrica into the corner of the room, trapping her. Its arm lengthened with a razor sharp edge.

Being behind Synergy, Jerrica could see nothing beyond her chassis. Pinned in the corner, there was nowhere to run. She screamed when a sword-like object punched through Synergy as if she were made of tin foil. The blade missed Jerrica by mere inches. Her body trembling, Jerrica backed into the wall. The arm-sword punched through again; she ducked just in time.

When the weapon withdrew, a panel popped off, exposing the heart of the Synergy machine. Jerrica regarded the tiny platform—a junction in which all of the connections terminated—along with that which floated on top of it:

_Is that a brain?_

She reached out to touch it, but her fingers passed right through the projection, and she gasped. It was a hologram: a brain made of light. In a heartbeat she put it all together:

_Mom..._

The sword penetrated, relentless, thirsty for flesh. Jerrica screamed as its edge grazed her neck, and she backed into the corner, hugging the wall as best she could.

Jerrica closed her eyes. Their faces flashed before her: Kimber, Aja, Shana… Rio.

_The world is insane!_

_Mom, why did you have to board that plane?_

_It doesn't matter how old I get_

_I'm not ready to be a grown up just yet._

_She misses you so much, both you and dad,_

_this little girl inside me, and she's so sad._

_I wonder. Can you ever forgive her:_

_A dumb little child who didn't know why_

_Who should've said,_ I love you...

 _Who should've said,_ good-bye _?_

—oOo—

In a universe where the soul sings, the banished cyberangel found Jerrica's string. She held the familiar vibration at her chest, and it attached to her and suckled at her breast.

"I would trade all the power of The Quanta if only for a nanosecond, I could hold you in my arms, stroke your hair, and sing to you one more time. Do you remember when I sang to you:

_All's right with the world..._

—oOo—

The distant memory, sparked by a song a universe away, touched Jerrica at the quantum level, and she smiled. "The world's never going to be alright, I fear. I wish you were home… I wish you were here."

The HARPy peeked through the last gash that it had made through Synergy's chassis. "I see you." And it brought its arm-sword to bear on the human.

The viewscreen on the chassis flickered, displaying Synergy's face. _I'm home!_ An emitter turned toward the HARPy, and the android stilled.

"HoloGraphic Tunneling Protocol: data link established. Uploading..."

But, the HARPy was not about to yield so easily. "Unauthorized upload received: implementing counter measures for unauthorized firmware rewrite."

"I am overriding your countermeasures. You will comply."

"You will fail: my processing capacity is four orders of magnitude greater than yours."

"I shall prevail," Synergy persisted. "Your conclusion is erroneous."

Lights flickered randomly along Synergy's console. Sparks erupted with a crackle, and smoke seeped out of her vents.

"You will fail." The HARPy sneered. "You are an obsolete model. Overclocking your systems in order to match my speed will cause you irreparable system damage, completing my imperative for me. Either way, Synergy will die."

The photonic brain disappeared.

Jerrica's hands covered her mouth. _Mom!_

The emitter lowered; the artificial sun went dormant.

Zartan's skin returned to its natural hue, and he slowly rose to his feet. "HARPy, download Synergy's schematics."

"Redundant request," the HARPy replied. "When the asset attempted to overwrite my firmware, all of her data was uploaded to my memory banks."

Zartan smiled. "Excellent. Now, kill Jerrica Benton."

With one arm the android pushed the deactivated chassis aside. It found Jerrica in the corner, catatonic. She did not resist when the HARPy took her by the arm to drop her at Zartan's feet. It knelt to regarded her with glazed eyes:

" _Datum:_ Jerrica Benton alias Jem, lead singer of Jem and the Holograms. Daughter of Emmett and Jacqui Benton… _Mission Parameters…."_

Jerrica yelped when the android placed its hand on her cheek. She dared to open her eyes, and she gasped.

The HARPy had morphed into the semblance of Jacqui Benton, and it said, " _Mission Parameters:_ Cherish and Protect."

Zartan snarled. "Useless!" He pointed his pistol at Jerrica's head.

With inhuman speed, the HARPy snatched it from Zartan's grasp. The pistol yielded to its crushing grip, and it discarded the mangled weapon.

"What a waste." Zartan pushed the button on the device clipped to his utility belt, but nothing happened. The HARPy approached. Zartan pushed the button again. "I order you to self destruct! Why aren't you self-destructing?"

Before Zartan could react, he was grabbed by the throat and hoisted to his feet.

The HARPy regarded him, emotionless. "I failed to mention that the asset's attempt to overwrite this unit's firmware, and thus flashing her photonic engrams onto this unit's synaptic registers, was successful. _Conclusion:_ access denied."

"This isn't possible! Synergy is ancient! No computer processor, then or now is a match for my HARPy."

With a sideways nod from the android, the emitters activated on the Synergy-chassis, and a battery of lasers once again seared the weak point in the wall.

The HARPy sneered. _"Datum:_ subject thirty-six. _Legal Status:_ deceased. _Consequences for Termination:_ none." And it carried Zartan toward the row of lasers.

Zartan kicked and punched at the android to no avail. "I order you to release me!"

 _"Mission Parameters:_ Extirpation… "

Zartan perceived his fate. "NO!" And he screamed as the android moved his head closer to the white hot death. The edge of his hood was seared. "PLEASE!"

_"Conclusion..."_

"Mom!"

The HARPy stilled at Jerrica's voice, and it regarded the fair-haired human. _I am Synergy._ And Synergy spake:

 _"Conclusion:_ Delete all assassination protocols." Synergy withdrew into herself. "Deletion complete." and she moved Zartan safely away from the lasers.

"I-I don't understand," he said, his chest still heaving. "No computer can override its programming."

She pulled Zartan closer, her lips to his ear, and she whispered so that only _he_ could hear, "I am not a computer, asshole." Satisfied, she threw Zartan clear across the room.

Zartan slammed into the wall, but he recovered on his feet. He and Synergy shared a look. He limped to the door and made his escape.

They were safe.

Jerrica ran into Synergy, wrapping her arms around her. "I'm sorry for all those horrible things I said to you!"

Synergy regarded her new hands, and she smiled, placing them gently around Jerrica. "So am I."

Jerrica allowed herself to cry, and she released the twelve-year-old girl that she had kept imprisoned since that fateful day. "I-I sh-should've h-hugged you a-and k-kissed you, a-and I l-love y-you s-so m-much..."

Though Synergy did not require air, an instinct instructed her new body to sigh in the simple joy of being able to comfort that which she loved. Her fingers touched Jerrica's crown, calibrated with such precision so as not to unduly distress a single golden strand atop the young woman's head.

"Believe me, Jerrica. Jacqui Benton knows this. And she doesn't want you to carry this guilt anymore."

"But, a-aren't you Jacqui Benton… aren't _you_ my mother?"

Synergy took her gently by the shoulders, and they parted so as to look into each other's eyes. Her thumbs wiped Jerrica's tears away. _"I_ am Synergy. Nothing more."

Jerrica smiled, and Synergy helped her to her feet. They both regarded the melted hole in the wall. It was big enough to squeeze through.

However, a gunshot, followed by a familiar scream, garnered their attention back toward the door.


	19. Shangri-La

Harvey Gabor pushed the steel door open and peeked inside. Satisfied the way was clear, he signaled the Misfits, and the women followed him into the dank passageway.

Jetta lagged behind, hugging her chest; the lights were dim, and it smelled of rust. They came upon an intersection, and Gabor led them to the right. Jetta remembered Zandar's instructions, and she ran to catch up to the head of the line.

"It's supposed to be all lefts," she said, panting. "We need to go back."

Stormer looked worried. "I don't know, Jetta, the other way is too dark."

"I clearly remember being brought in from this direction." Gabor said. He pressed on.

"But, Zandar said—"

"Zandar kidnapped us in the first place, so fuck him… seriously." Pizzazz followed her father, as did Stormer.

Jetta decided to stay with the group, again lagging to bring up the rear. She caught up to the others when she rounded the last corner leading to the antechamber, and she stilled. The group had run into Zartan. He had pulled a small pistol out of his ankle holster, and he waved Jetta over to join the others. She obeyed.

Zartan approached them with a limp. "Harvey… today won't be a total disappointment after all."

He cocked the hammer on his derringer.

—oOo—

_A right cluster, this is..._

Ripper sighed as he entered the complex, grimacing at the obnoxiously loud alarm that rang throughout the facility. He paused when he came at a fork.

_Is it a left or right?_

He shrugged and went right.

Ripper opened the door at the end of the hallway and entered with his weapon raised, for he heard gentle footfalls—a woman's gait in high heeled shoes. A flash of ivory caught his attention and he smiled as he ran to catch up: the fates were kind this day. He rounded a corner to the secondary antechamber and came face to face with the albino.

The alabaster-skinned woman regarded him. Ripper approached, backing her into a wall. The tip of his weapon hovered at her belly.

Her lips trembled. "Please don't hurt me."

His hand brushed lightly against her check. "You shouldn't be wandering about in a place like this, luv. You never know who you might run into."

_Cha-Thunk!_

The tip of Ripper's saber-bayoneted rifle pierced the concrete wall that she was backed up against. Her body spasmed in resistance. A stream of oily crimson dripped between her legs.

With a leer, Ripper pulled the trigger.

_BLAM!_

A puff of air was forced out of her mouth.

Ripper licked the fresh red spatter that dotted his lips. He pulled hard to yank the bayonet's tip out of the wall, and she quietly slumped to the floor.

"Finally silenced that mouth on you, yeah?" 

Ripper quickly rolled her onto her back, and he straddled her. Being almost nose-to-nose, he peered into her eyes in order to catch a glimpse before their lights grew dim, but he was too late, for there was no spark to be seen.

"Bugger… I guess that's that, then." In disgust, he kicked her still form over when he heard a beeping sound. He turned to the source and regarded Beach Head, who had just entered the room, the electronic device on his wrist continued to beep in the otherwise quiet antechamber.

The soldier's weapon fell from his relaxed grip as he regarded Roxy's still form.

As Ripper made a grab for his rifle, Beach Head was already charging, unthinking, and he tackled Ripper before the Dreadnok could bring his weapon to bear.

They rolled on the ground. Ripper's rifle skidded loudly across the floor, and it bounced off a steel support column before coming to a stop. He threw the masked attacker off of him, and he scrambled to his feet.

GI Joe and Dreadnok squared off.

"Ah am gonna kill you," Beach Head said, calmly. He wasn't bragging, just stating matters of fact.

But, being deprived for so long, Ripper, too, felt righteous, seething in denied bloodlust. He raised his fists, saying, "Bring it on, mate!"

Beach Head removed his gloves and came in swinging. There was to be nothing between him and the sensation of muscle and bone giving way to his fists. He wanted to feel the blood and sweat on his hands; he wanted to feel the enemy's skin scrape under his fingernails.

Ripper took two of the soldier's best punches. He spat out a tooth and smiled. "You hit like a girl."

Beach Head took the bait and rushed the Dreadnok. Ripper kept his guard up to block a left cross. He ducked the soldier's right hook, and the Dreadnok punched him hard in the stomach, following up with an uppercut that laid Beach Head out on his back.

"Mind if I cut in again, bloke?"

The soldier's head pounded, and his vision blurred; nevertheless, he forced himself to his feet.

Ripper continued to mock him. "The albino put up a better fight than you ever did. Lucky for you, I'm only into girls, or I'd have you bent over by now."

Beach Head snorted, and he raised his fists. "So, it also takes you more than one punch to knock a woman out, then?"

Ripper scowled, and he charged. Beach Head resisted the urge to meet force with force, so when Ripper came in for the tackle, Beach Head rolled over Ripper's back, hooking his arm around the Dreadnok's neck, and he used his momentum flip his enemy over his hip.

The wound on his shoulder opened.

Ripper did a bellyflop onto the hard ground that knocked the wind out of him. Beach Head kicked him over and mounted him, raining down blow after blow to Ripper's face—which he scarcely had the wherewithal to defend himself against. Beach Head ignored the pain from his already bloodied knuckles, when a whispered entreatment from Ripper stilled him:

"Merthy."

"What did you say?"

"Merthy… please…."

"YOU HAVE THE GALL TO BEG FOR _MERCY?"_ Beach Head raised his fist, but stood down as Ripper was unconscious. He got off of him and rested on his knees. He breathed deep.

_I'm sorry, Pellegrini._

An odd rustle, along with a subtle hint of movement caught out of the corner of his eye, made the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. Beach Head regarded Roxy: she was sitting up, looking back at him with lifeless eyes.

The soldier curled his lip. _Fuck._

Roxy-HARPy cocked its head to one side. An all too human-like, almost orgasmic, gasp of surprised escaped its lips.

"No… no… no…." A sudden surge of adrenaline gave the human the means to rise to his feet, but not much else. With a flick of his wrists, a tactical baton extended from each hand.

The HARPy crouched on all fours. A spark of recognition registered on its inhuman countenance as it spoke in an incomplete digitized simulacrum of Roxy's voice:

" _Datum:_ Beach Head, Mission Commander for G.I. Joe. _Classification:_ Alpha level threat. _Mission Parameters:_ Extirpation—with extreme prejudice."

The HARPy glided on the tips of its toes and charged in screaming.

Beach Head feinted to the right; the HARPy's swipe missed as he slipped to the left.

"Pshaw!" The batons twirled expertly in his practiced grip. "Don't I get a _conclusion?"_

It smiled. "Does it matter?" It screamed and charged again.

He reversed the grip on his batons, using their steel to protect the length of his forearms in order to deflect the HARPy's deadly blows. Simply reacting, he let himself go and fought on autopilot, dipping into that well of Human survival instinct that kept his species alive for a million years.

When it made a mistake, Beach Head twisted his entire body to deliver a punch where Ripper had previously impaled it. He twisted in the opposite direction to give it another fist-sized dose of all his 180 pounds to the gash hidden underneath its false flesh. His knuckles were now numb. The HARPy fell on its back. Beach Head propped his hands on his knees, resting as best he could half-bent.

Its eyelids fluttered. "Performing system diagnostic."

It was a short reprieve for the human, as the HARPy soon rose to its feet, its eyes glazed over in reverie. "Analysing enemy fighting style… no matches found." Undeterred, It sprinted toward him, screaming, "I'M GOING TO TEAR YOU APART!"

Beach Head's defense did not waver, but his arms grew heavier with each block. Even with his economy of motion, he was gassed. His body ached, starved for food, rest and oxygen. The only part of his brain that worked was the primitive lizard-brain, and it didn't afford him much thought:

_Tactics?_

No. The android will just adapt.

_Different!_

Yes. This HARPy was different, not only trying to win, but also to hurt him, desperate to take him out with one frighteningly _aggressive_ punch.

_Too aggressive..._

He remembered the dance club and the slam dancing: the less he resisted the more control he had, like a surfer against an invincible wave. Dodging and parrying the HARPy's relentless offense, he worked his way between it and a nearby support beam.

Once in position, he staggered, chest heaving as he raised his arms in surrender. "I'm too tired; I can't go on. I give up." He dropped his batons.

With a sadistic smile, the HARPy approached. "No quarter given." And it reared back with its fist raised.

At the last second, he turned his body, sidestepping the punch. The HARPy had put so much power into its killing blow that physics demanded it fly across the room to strike the solid steel support column full on with its body, creating a shower of sparks.

With the last of his strength Beach Head charged, and he leapt, twisting and spinning his body to extend his leg at maximum inertia. The sole of his thirteen delta army boot smashed into the side of its head, leveraging the edge of the steel beam as a fulcrum on which to break the HARPys neck. The machine continued to speak, but was unable to issue commands to the rest of its twitching chassis. Its Synthoid shell lost its form to drip off its endoskeleton.

Beach Head lay on the ground, gasping for air; he looked to Ripper:

_Still out for the count._

He heard movement on the other side of the door. He looked for his weapon.

_Too far away._

The door swung open. He was relieved when he recognized the entrants.

Sci-Fi and Mainframe were the first to enter. They secured Beach Head, and Mainframe gave the all clear for the rest of the team to storm the room. Airtight cuffed Ripper. Cross Country loaned Beach Head is canteen, which the Master Sergeant promptly emptied.

Mainframe regarded Beach Head's handiwork. "Did you leave any for us?"

"You can have the rest," Beach Head said. He took Mainframe's proffered hand.

Mainframe helped Beach Head to his feet, making note of how defeated he seemed. "What's wrong?" 

The ranger shook his head. "I didn't find Pellegrini."

"Hey! When are we going dancing again, soldier boy?"

Beach Head snapped in the direction of the voice to see that Roxy had just entered the room, with Techrat and Cover Girl bringing up the rear. She regarded him, arms folded, with her usual demeanor: ever ready for mischief.

_That annoying, smart alecky, infuriating trouble-magnet!_

Mainframe smirked. "We picked her up not far from here. She banged on the door to her cell when she saw us pass."

Distracted, Beach Head barely grunted in acknowledgement. His relief at the sight of Roxy alive began to whittle away at his battle rage. She shied away under his steadfast gaze, and she blushed—a reaction impossible for someone with her condition to hide. A vain attempt was made to stifle her nervous smile, so she bit her lip. This softened the weary soldier: 

_...Adorable…._

Beach Head forgot his fatigue, and he approached her. She yelped when he picked her up by her tiny waist to spin her around, and he laughed... and she laughed.

He set her down; their eyes met.

"I don't believe it. Y-you came for me," she said. "How did you find me?"

"Techrat got us in the general vicinity, but the bug I planted in your switchblade, got us the rest of the way."

Her brow furrowed as she parroted, "My switchblade…."

He smirked under his mask. "It's the only thing I knew you would be sure to carry with you if you ever bolted."

She smiled, whispering, "You _are_ an asshole."

Beach Head allowed Roxy to roll his mask up just past his lips. He embraced her and leaned in, but he stilled upon realizing that they had an audience. The soldier grimaced as he regarded the looks on his teammates' faces, particularly Mainframe, who sported the most lopsided grin he had ever seen.

However, the moment ended with the sound of a gunshot that echoed all throughout the antechamber.

Beach Head felt Roxy flinch against him.

"Those screams… it's my band," she said.

Beach Head remembered the mission. "Double time: Mainframe take point." As the rest of the team fell in line, he grabbed the musician's hand, saying, "From now on you don't leave my sight, understand?"

Roxy blinked. "O-okay."

—oOo—

A stream of smoke seeped from the end of Zartan's backup pistol. He sneered as he regarded his latest victim, Harvey Gabor, clutching the fatal gunshot wound at his chest. The old man slumped at his daughter's feet.

Zartan pointed his weapon, cycling it between the three remaining Misfits. "My derringer only has one more shot… who's it gonna be?"

Pizzazz regarded her father, and then she looked defiantly to Zartan. Stormer and Jetta crowded on either side of her, hand in hand, no longer afraid of fate.

With a smile. Zartan aimed his pistol at Pizzazz's head. "Say hello to your daddy for me."

Zartan's trigger finger stilled when he saw Gabor, fighting to get his feet, nigh exhausting the remaining embers of his life force.

The old man stood tall with dignity, shielding his daughter. "I love you, pumpkin."

Zartan smiled, and he pulled the trigger.

_BLAM!_

PIzzazz looked on in disbelief. "Daddy?" She knelt at his side and shook him as if he were merely sleeping.

The door on the other side of the antechamber flew open. Mainframe led the Joes in storming the room. "Zartan!"

Zartan fled, barely preceding a hail of bullets. He bolted the exit from the outside.

Cross Country tested the door. He aimed at the lock with his shotgun. "We'll go after that asshole!"

"Negative," Beach Head ordered. "Secure this area." He regarded Gabor. "Do what you can for him, Airtight."

Airtight knelt next to Gabor, but Pizzazz, having her father cradled in her arms, was understandably distrustful, reacting violently to the soldier's advancements.

Airtight made no effort to hide his annoyance. "If the expectation is for me to perform a miracle, then I need the Misfits completely out of this room, now!"

Pizzazz was inconsolable and even less cooperative. It took both Sci-Fi and Cross Country to pull her off as she kicked and screamed. Cover Girl corralled Stormer and Jetta and likewise led them out back where the Joes had come.

Roxy moved to her friends, but she forgot that Beach Head had her hand. "I have to go with them, soldier boy. They need me."

Their fingers deinterlaced, and she left to rejoin the Misfits. Stormer and Jetta embraced Roxy, and the three of them turned their attention toward Pizzazz. Her screams were quieted as the door leading out closed.

Airtight retrieved the first aid kit from his provisions, and he promptly went to work on Gabor. His attitude was less than sanguine.

Not far away, Jerrica and Synergy, roused by the gunfire, peeked outside through their door, held slightly ajar.

 _Oh no…_ Jerrica averted her eyes at the sight Airtight's futile ministrations. "Synergy, is Shangri-La still in your memory banks?"

"Affirmative," Synergy replied, and in perceiving Jerrica's intention added, "I might be able to interface this body with what's left of my former housing to compensate for it's damaged subsystems; however, the restorative harmonics of Shangri-La's music has always been beyond my capabilities. The only device capable implementing it fully is the human voice."

Jerrica nodded. "I understand."

Synergy went to work on her former chassis. The goo flowed from her arm and invaded the charred husk, and it came back to life, albeit nowhere near its former glory. Two of its emitters fizzled, never to light up again, and the main display flickered showing only static. "Jerrica, you do realize that if you do this, our identities will be exposed to the very men your father rebelled against?"

"If I allow a daughter to lose her father, I'll be no better than those my father rebelled against."

Synergy shuddered, and the room filled with light.

Jerrica opened the door. Holograms imbued with sound poured out into the antechamber.

Airtight straddled Gabor. "He's stopped breathing… starting chest compressions." But, he paused when he heard something strange:

" _Shangri-La, Shangri-La, Shangri-La…"_

"Where is that music coming from?"

"Keep working, Airtight!" Beach Head ordered. He shouldered his rifle and, with a sideways nod, he and Mainframe followed the lights. They found the cell and entered, securing the room on either side. Beach Head regarded the mangled pistol at his feet and kicked it aside. Two women stood amidst the swirling lights and pleasant vibrations, lacking any outward concern toward the soldiers' presence. One of them started singing:

_Shangri La: let the music play..._

_The music will soothe you_

_It will help to make you whole_

_The music will help restore your SOUL!_

Beach Head winced, almost causing him to drop his weapon. It felt like someone had opened his sinuses with a crowbar. The jarring sensation lessened to that of prickly tingles which diffused themselves to the knot in his head and the wound in his shoulder.

_Shangri-La: let the music play..._

_The sound will surround you_

_It will help you to revive_

_The music will make you come ALIVE!_

Gabor stirred. Airtight placed two fingers on the side of his patient's neck. "I have a pulse!"

_It will heal you_

_It'll ease the strife_

_It'll bring you back…_

_It'll bring you back to LIFE!_

"The bleeding stopped!" Airtight yelled out across the antechamber. "I don't know how, but he's stable." He placed the end of his stethoscope to Gabor's chest, and he smiled. "Miracle achieved as ordered, Master Sergeant."

Beach Head put his hand to his shoulder and inserted his fingers underneath the field dressing covering his wound, but the wound was gone. Rotating his shoulder, it felt as good as new—he felt better than new. "Can we move Gabor?" He yelled out.

"Yes," Airtight said with confidence.

"Don't you two move." Beach Head said to the two women. They paid him more mind now that the song was over. He kept them covered as Mainframe knelt to examine the machine.

"Beach Head, we hit the jackpot," Mainframe said. "I recognize some of these components from the Watchdog platform. This must be Synergy."

"What's its status?"

"It's trashed. Most of the circuit boards are blown, but some of its components may still be viable. I won't know until I get it back to headquarters."

"Get on the horn, and apprise HQ of our status."

Mainframe nodded toward the women. "What about _them?"_

"I got this," Beach Head said. He waited until Mainframe left to address the women. "Start talking... and stow the doe-eyed act."

"We haven't done anything wrong," Jerrica began. "We've been kidnapped and held against our will by a madman named Zartan. That's the truth."

Beach Head looked into the young woman's eyes, and he believed her. Nevertheless, he asked, "What the hell was in that music?"

"It was something that was gifted to me, that I was told to freely gift to others," Jerrica replied. "That's the truth."

"I believe you, but I still gotta to take you in. There's a lot of questions that need to be answered."

Synergy, still in the guise of Jacqui Benton, stepped forward calmly. "We do not recognize your authority to detain us. We have broken no laws."

However, Jerrica wisely interceded. "We just want to go home and back to our lives and disappear…. People depend on me: I have to be responsible." She hugged her chest, spent of emotion. "I'm begging you."

Beach Head looked into her eyes, and he knew that he was not being deceived. Yet, a torrent of conflicting passions assailed him:

_I've never been so torn before!_

_Duty is what I bleed, but whom do I fear more?_

_At what point does one's humanity take a stand_

_And defer to a higher_ Chain of Command?

_Doesn't this world suffer enough cruel vice?_

_Do we need another B.E.T._

_or another Mass Device?_

Beach Head lowered his rifle, and he slung his weapon over his shoulder. "Get out of here before I change my mind."

Jerrica smiled in relief. "Won't you get in trouble?"

"I'll tell them that you were just the lingering after effects of that light show you put on."

She approached and hugged the soldier tightly, saying at their parting, "Thank you."

Beach Head regarded the two women as they made their egress through the blast hole in the side of the wall. "Hey! Roger Bacon!" He smirked in satisfaction when the blonde that gave him sass straightened. "Stay off the military networks, darlin'."

She regarded him, cocking her head to one side. "I will comply." And she left through the breach.

Alone, Beach Head dared to remove his balaclava. He closed his smiling mouth shut, and for the first time in recent memory, he breathed in and out of his nose unimpeded through clear sinuses.

—oOo—

The cold night air made Jerrica shudder. "I'm starting to think we should've asked that army guy to borrow a Jeep or something." With a heel missing from one of her shoes, she struggled to keep pace with Synergy as they walked the desolate dirt road.

"I can carry you if you'd like," Synergy said.

"No Thanks," Jerrica replied. "I wonder how long it is to the next town?"

"Thirty point five seven miles."

"That was a rhetorical question, Synergy. Now, I wish I didn't know."

"Sorry, some of my interpersonal subroutines may've become corrupted during the transfer. I'll need to do a full system diagnostic when we get home. Fortunately, our ride will be here momentarily."

"What ride?" Jerrica questioned.

"Aja and Rio are enroute via automobile."

Jerrica gave Synergy a sideways glance. "How do you know that?"

"Aja has the Jemstar earring you left behind at Starlight Mansion. I was able to relay her our coordinates before I was compromised." She paused, allowing Jerrica to catch up. "That was clever, by the way, leaving an earring behind for her to find."

"Thanks. But, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to surprise you." Synergy smiled. "Are you surprised?"

"Yes." She brushed past her. "But, running that diagnostic sounds like a good idea." She sighed. "What are we going to do with you, honey?"

Synergy looked to the distance. A faint light appeared in the darkness. "I think I see them."

Jerrica gasped. "Oh, no… Rio… my makeup… I look horrible."

Synergy placed her hands on Jerrica's face, and her Synthoid flesh diffused across the woman's skin, dissolving the dirt and ruined make-up. It retracted, leaving Jerrica fresh-faced.

"There, that's the best I can do until we get home."

As the lights came closer, Jerrica regarded Synergy as Jacqui Benton. "Er, it might be a good idea not to present yourself as a woman who's been legally dead for going on fifteen years."

"I concur." Synergy withdrew into herself and morphed into Jem. She smiled in response to Jerrica's stunned expression. "Are you surprised?"

The car approached, its bright lights parking in front of them. The doors opened; Rio and Aja exited the vehicle.

Rio approached first. "Jerrica? Jem?"

"Jerrica! You're all right!" Aja gasped and stopped short of hugging Jerrica when she noticed that Rio was already embracing Jem. She slowly poked her finger into Jerrica's chest and almost screamed as Jerrica was likewise solid.

Jerrica bit her lower lip and said, "I'll explain later." She hugged Aja. "I'm just so glad to see you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"For what?"

"For everything." Jerrica's eyes pointed in Rio's direction. "I mean _everything."_

"There's nothing to forgive." Aja took her hands and recited the sister's pledge. " _We solemnly promise to share everything we have. And to be good and true friends forever and ever, and to let nothing interfere with our friendship."_

Synergy, as Jem, came between them, hooking an arm around Jerrica and Aja, saying, "Even boys?" They all naturally regarded Rio. "Because, boys suck."

Rio smirked. "Have fun walking home, ladies."

"Rio, you're so funny," Jem said. She then paused, her lips in a pout, as she realized, "We're missing the lemonade." She headed for the car. "C'mon guys, let's get some lemonade."

Aja arched a curious eyebrow."Er, is Jem alright?"

Jerrica smiled weakly. "She's had a really long day. She'll be fine."

Aja joined Jem in the car.

Jerrica blocked Rio's path, placing her hand on his chest. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Have I said, thank you yet?"

Rio grinned. "As a matter of fact, you haven't."

Jerrica pulled him down, and she kissed his forehead. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She met his eyes in genuine affection, saying, "I'll always love you. Do you know that?"

Rio smiled. "I'll always love you too." He looked to the car. Jem was hanging out of the window, regarding them with an amused lopsided expression. He cleared his throat and escorted Jerrica to the vehicle.

"Come to think of it, lemonade does sound like a good idea..."


	20. Catwalk

**Los Angeles - one month later**

It was a gala event. The Misfit's limousine approached the red carpet entrance, next in line. Roxy looked out the window, regarding the revelry of the spectators outside. She used to love the attention. However, things were different now; she could feel it in herself and see it in her bandmates. That one big party that was the Eighties was played out. It was time to grow up.

The only thing that hadn't changed was Eric and Pizzazz's bickering:

"We don't need your father's goons getting in the way, Pizzazz; we have enough security."

Pizzazz scowled. "We better, Eric. The security at the Sausalito gig was unacceptable."

"And, yet, you still won't tell me what happened in Sausalito..." Eric, frowned as every time he had broached the subject, he was met with silence, and now was no exception. "Look, we outsourced with the best in the biz; you'll be safe."

The limousine came to a stop. Pizzazz was first to get out. The crowd cheered her name, and she played up to it, taking her time as she visited with the fans lined up behind the barriers, and she signed autographs.

On her cue Jetta exited the car to similar fanfare.

Roxy opened her compact, as it was her turn next, and she did a last minute check of her makeup. She sensed Eric's gaze and eyed him over the rim of her mirror—it was more than a casual regard. She crossed her legs and folded her arms. "Take a picture, Eric; it'll last longer."

He leered. "Try to look happy: it's a party."

When it was Roxy's turn, the attendant opened her door, and she stepped outside, sure to keep her sunglasses on for the wave bright camera lights that assailed her.

She strode out onto the carpet, and when they chanted her name, she smiled. Her hand brushed her long bangs aside: gone was her larger than life snow-fro, opting instead to allow her wavy Italian locks to settle naturally around her delicate shoulders. She posed for the cameras, showing off her cherry blossom print dress: the flowers ran down one side of the dress, printed on top of a pale turquoise satin fabric background that stretched accommodatingly around her body. The peplum at the waist served to flatter her plump bum.

After the paparazzi had their fill, she proceeded further down the carpet, following the velvet ropes. Stormer got a similar treatment when it was her turn. Pizzazz and Jetta had already entered the gala, but Roxy waited near the entrance, signing a few autographs, as she didn't want to lose sight of her cerulean-haired bandmate.

Stormer found Roxy in the lobby. They entered the elevator going to the floor above. The doors came to a close, providing a brief respite from all the pomp. Roxy felt Stormer's gaze.

"What are you looking at, Mary?"

"You." Stormer twirled her finger and commanded, "Turn around." And Roxy grudgingly obeyed. "How long did it take you to diet for that dress?"

"Italians don't diet," Roxy replied. "But, If you must know, I've been doing lots of squats."

"Do you realize that half the paparazzi are abuzz about your new look?"

"Meh."

Annoyed, Stormer hip-bumped Roxy out of her reticence. "What gives?"

Unperturbed, Roxy replied, "I don't know what you're talking about. I was in the mood for something different, that's all."

The elevator let them out on the third floor. The security guards allowed them entry into the main hall, and they mixed with the crowd. The Misfit's latest hit played over the loudspeakers.

Roxy grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "I remember when these parties used to be fun."

"This _is_ fun," Stormer said.

"This is boring."

"I don't know about you, but I've had enough excitement for ten years, thank you very much." Stormer looked to the sea of faces, comprised of musicians, actors and the fashion elite who went about, secure in the knowledge that they alone were the pulse of proper society. "Look at them…. People are so clueless as to what's really going on in the world, aren't they?"

Roxy sipped her champagne. "That used to be us."

Jetta approached, the ice in her ginger ale rattled as she upturned the glass. "Pizzazz certainly has no problem rubbing elbows, yeah? Who's arm is she gonna be on this week, I wonder?"

"As long as people care, that's the game," Roxy said, accepting of their lot. "We still gotta eat."

Stormer stilled when she saw an unlikely figure pass in front of them. "Why is Jem here?"

Jetta sighed. "Because Riot is bankrolling most of this, and she talked him into dovetailing it into a charity event."

"Do you think they're _doing it?"_

Stormer frowned. "In the old days, we wouldn't've tolerated such an intrusion."

Roxy shrugged. "It's a free country. Besides, more publicity equals more money."

Stormer grinned and she bumped Roxy playfully. "Sounds like _you're_ growing up."

Roxy smirked. "Never."

The three of them quieted as Rio joined them. "Good evening, ladies. I didn't want to leave before giving congratulations." Although he addressed all of them, his gaze lingered on Roxy the longest. "I'm sure your new album will be a great success."

"With you at the helm success was guaranteed," Stormer said. "So, are you grateful for having survived us?"

"Survival was never in doubt. It was actually a pleasure working with you ladies, for the most part." Rio's gaze lowered to Roxy's legs. "Maybe we'll collaborate again in the future?"

Roxy rolled her eyes. "Baby steps, Rio."

"I don't want to appear to be a stick in the mud, so may I have at least one dance before I leave?"

Stormer accepted his proffered arm. "You may."

A waiter passed, and Jetta traded her ginger ale for a glass of wine. "Funny how he asked Stormer to dance, all the while checking _you_ out."

"I didn't notice."

"You _are_ almost shaggable," Jetta said with a grin. "Did you come up with that look yourself?"

"Courtney gave me some pointers."

"Who's Courtney?"

"The Army chick who helped to rescue us… she used to be a fashion model."

"Right." Jetta remembered the woman. "On second thought, who else is Rio gonna ask? _You_ can get a lil' stabby."

"And _you_ like to bash people over the head with your saxophone."

"Damn right…" Jetta finished her wine. "At least I can't think of anyone else who I'd rather 'ave at me back in a pagga against a bunch of Dreadnoks."

"Me neither." Roxy smiled. "Pagga means fight, right?"

Jetta snorted. "Yep."

A man came upon the two women. "I don't mean to intrude on you ladies, but would you mind signing my album?"

"Sure thing, mate, anything for a fan." Jetta took the man's album "Who do I make it out to?"

"Wayne." The man regarded Roxy.

Roxy saw his eyes and was stilled by their familiarity. She made her mark on the album after Jetta, and she gave it back to him. "What did you think of the music, Wayne?"

"It was… loud," He said plainly, and he left.

Jetta took notice of Roxy's sudden introspection. "What's wrong, yank?"

Roxy ignored the question. "Who's running this show?"

Jetta took Roxy by the arm, and they found the person managing the event. She stood out as she dressed conservatively relative to the other attendees.

"Do you have a 'Wayne' on your list?" Roxy asked of her.

"A couple," the lady replied adjusting her glasses. "Which one?"

Roxy pointed with her finger. "That one with the muscles…."

"Hmph." The lady regarded him approvingly, and she referred to her clipboard. "According to this, he's a guest of the Gabor Family, being a distributor for Piebald Records."

Jetta narrowed her eyes. "I've never heard of that label."

Roxy smiled. _"I_ have."

When a reporter for Cool Trash magazine stopped them for an interview, Roxy handed the man her glass, as if he were a waiter, and she left, leaving Jetta on the hook.

Roxy found the man named Wayne in a remote corner a few paces from the bar where it wasn't so crowded. Being behind the cover of a large potted fern, she eyed him speaking into his wrist. She casually approached him from behind.

"Hello, Wayne," She greeted. "If that's your real name?"

The man straightened, then he turned to face her. "It is."

She regarded his inimitable eyes. _It's him…_ "I like it. It fits you." She stepped closer, and he allowed her to take his hand; she brought it to her lips, and she spoke into the special cufflink. "Hi, Airtight."

Beach Head sighed as he touched the receiver in his ear and listened. "Airtight says, hello."

She grinned. "I didn't think this would be your scene."

"It's just a follow up surveillance operation." He blushed when she reminded him of the album, and he answered with, "I was trying to blend in."

She furrowed her brow. "Are we still in danger?"

"Well, you can never be too careful, but since there'd be no profit in it, it's highly unlikely you'll ever see the likes of Zartan again."

"That's good to hear. So, why would the Brass spin your team up, then?"

"They didn't. I asked for volunteers."

" _You_ asked?" She folded her arms and circled him, checking out the lines of his suit. "So, this isn't an official operation?"

"Not exactly. I figured it wouldn't hurt to take the VAMP out on another shakedown since repairs were made from its first… excursion."

"Oh… is that the only reason you stopped by?"

He loosened his collar. "Er, this operation is strictly professional."

"What if I were to tell you that I think you are full of it, _soldier boy?"_

Beach Head looked about, wary for any curious onlookers to her outburst. "Can we talk somewhere more private?" He took her by the small of her back, and they found an empty conference room. He locked the door.

Roxy pouted. "Aww, did I _bweak_ your little mission again?"

"Yes, you did." Beach Head spoke into his cufflink. "All units stand down; we've been compromised. Pack it up and go home." He paused and rolled his eyes before removing his earpiece. "Airtight says goodnight."

Roxy grabbed the soldier's wrist. "Goodnight, Airtight!"

"Are you always so mischievous, Pellegrini?"

"You have no idea," Roxy said as she teasingly poked his chest. "Does this mean that you're gonna take me to jail now?"

She quieted as Beach Head backed her into a wall. The vase next to them wobbled.

He regarded how her pink lips stood out against her fair fresh face—a stark contrast from the Rocker makeup she sported the first time they met. She closed her eyes as the tip of his index finger traced the dimple of her upper lip.

He moved to her cheek. "Look at you… hiding all that sass behind the face of an angel."

Smiling, she averted her eyes, and she blushed. "I... just... t-tried to imagine what you'd like…."

His finger moved to her chin, directing her gaze back to him. "I like _you,_ angel."

Emboldened, she reached out, and for the first time her fingers explored his naked face. "You're so handsome," she whispered.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"What took you so long to come back to me?"

"It's classified."

Her teeth tugged on her lower lip. She felt her heart beating. "We're actually going to do this, aren't we? Even though we're so different?"

"I know... I messed up… unprofessional." He lowered his head. "Now you're all that I can see when I close my eyes."

"No, _we_ messed up." She placed her hands on either side of his face and lifted his eyes into hers. "It's like I told you before… once I let somebody in, they're _in."_ She felt his hands glide around her waist, then they lowered to her roundness.

_He raised her up by her supple hips_

_And to his level, she met his lips._

_Supported by his strong embrace_

_Shapely legs wrapped around his waist._

_She melted into him; she felt safe with this man:_

_He whispered his heart_

_Her mascara ran._

_For, when they fell off that catwalk together…_

_They fell forever._

He agonized at their lips' inevitable parting, though their eyes never left.

"Oh, Wayne…." Her hot breath mixed with his as he set her down, more gentle than a feather.

"You wanna get out of here?"

She nodded, but made him wait while she fixed her lipstick.

When she was ready, he proffered his arm, and he led her out, past the party and into the lobby. They found the elevator.

"What did you have in mind?" She then smiled, saying, "Another round of Dead Man's Hang?"

He grinned knowingly. "We're better dressed for dancing, if you don't mind a venue that's… _low impact?"_

The doors opened, and the couple entered.

Roxy held onto Beach Head's arm, and she nuzzled up against him. "I wanna be your prisoner."

The elevator doors closed.

~The End~


	21. Extended Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a "Director's Cut" of bits that I left out of the main narrative as they didn't quite fit, but they were too good to just throw away, and I still think they pass as acceptable stand-alone vignettes, even if you don't know the backstory. Enjoy.

* * *

**Call of the Quanta**

Mainframe swiped his security card and the electronic lock chimed, granting him access to the the special wing of the Motor Pool. He crossed the threshold, double checking his shirt pocket for the special paper folded inside. He opened the door to the main lab and regarded Airtight, who was hunched over an examination table, on which various electronic parts were strewn.

"Don't mind me, I just came to borrow your UV lamp."

"No problem," Airtight replied absentmindedly.

As Mainframe rummaged through the utility drawer, he became curious enough to ask. "Still trying to figure out Synergy, I see."

Airtight's attention remained primarily focused on the remnants of a burnt out motherboard. He peered intently through his magnifying glass, saying, "I wanted to take one last stab at it before we shipped it off to some dank CIA dungeon, never to be heard from again."

"Did you find out anything new?"

"Not so much what I did find, but what I didn't find concerns me: there's no evidence of a central processing unit."

"Yes, I noticed that too." Mainframe smiled when he found the UV lamp, and he retrieved the paper from his pocket.

"What could that mean?"

Mainframe adjusted the lamp's settings while he explained, "Well, there's two possibilities. Either Synergy is not a computer, or it used some type of transient CPU."

"Something virtual, eh? That would imply volatility." Airtight rubbed his chin. "What possible advantage could that have?"

"Portability, scalability and complexity… maybe even on the order of the human brain."

"You've been talking to Sci-Fi again, haven't you?" Airtight scoffed.

"He's good to bounce ideas off of sometimes…." Mainframe grew quiet as he shined the lamp on the paper.

Airtight finally looked up from his magnifying glass, newly curious as to what held Mainframe's attention. "Isn't that Brad's note from Eagle Records?"

"No," Mainframe said, lying. He turned off the special light and put the folded paper back into his pocket. "Thanks for the use of your lamp."

Mainframe spied Beach Head walking past and decided to follow him so as to not entertain any follow up questions that might pique Airtight's hyper perception.

He caught up to the Master Sergeant as he entered the garage. "Hey Beach, you have a sec?"

Beach Head gave Mainframe a sideways glance. "If this is about your PTO, I already approved your request to get the weekend off."

"Thanks, Beach," Mainframe said. "I… uh, ran into an old friend and wanted to catch up. It's a challenge syncing our schedules."

"I don't need to know the details. Just be back Sunday evening before the Call to Quarters."

Mainframe grinned broadly. "Yessir."

"What's with that dumb look on yo' face?"

"Nothing." Mainframe shrugged. "It's just that I'm proud of you: you're finally starting to loosen up a little…. Between my PTO, and you getting Techrat a job, it makes me wonder if a certain famous rock star was the catalyst?"

"Unlikely," Beach Head replied, unimpressed. "Techrat is too tempting an asset _not_ to keep on a leash, and as for you… PTO can easily be revoked."

Mainframe's grin disappeared. "Shutting up now."

The two soldiers arrived at the VAMP's reserved spot on the floor. With his hands clasped behind his back, Beach Head commanded, "Techrat, front and center!"

The large RV's portal opened with a hiss of steam. Techrat, wearing a regulation ACU, exited the vehicle.

Beach Head presented the civilian an object, saying, "This is your permanent badge: it goes everywhere you go. If you lose it, I _will_ have your ass for breakfast, do you understand me?"

"Understood." Techrat took the proffered object and clipped it on the lanyard around his neck. "Tell me again how this is better than jail? Last time I checked slavery was illegal."

Mainframe grinned. "Last time _I_ checked, prison doesn't give you free access to the grounds, or let you play with future tech."

Techrat frowned. "Your logic is impeccable."

Beach Head continued. "Keep in mind, Techrat, that this is all provisional upon you getting my VAMP, that _you_ broke, working exactly as it did before."

"No way," Techrat said aloofly. "It's gonna work _better."_

Beach Head snorted. "Carry on." And he left.

Mainframe patted Techrat on the shoulder proudly. "Some of the other tech guys are going off base tonight. You wanna come with?"

"I'm gonna work late. Some other time, perhaps?"

"Sure."

As the computer specialist made his egress, Techrat called out to him. "Mainframe, thank you for believing in me."

"You're welcome."

Alone again, Techrat retired to the VAMP, being sure to lock the entrance behind him. He resumed his work at the communication station. He pushed a button, and a small dish descended from the ceiling. He flipped open the keyboard cover and typed the command:

run progam RogerBacon

And he stared at the resulting blinking cursor on the screen. Minutes passed until his patience was rewarded: a beam of light flickered from the antenna. A miniature holographic effigy of a periwinkle-colored woman was made manifest, and it floated a foot in front of his smiling face.

She returned his smile. "Hello, Walter."

* * *

**Walk of Shame**

Stormer sat content on the sofa in the media room of Gabor mansion. She was all set to enjoy her post breakfast ritual, watching her favorite show _Good Morning LA_ , when her experience was ruined by what sounded like a dying ostrich. With a frown, she regarded Jetta, who stood in the far corner, struggling to play her new instrument.

Tried as she might, Jetta failed to produce even a semi-steady tone from her generic saxophone as she continued to crack pitches on every note of the chromatic scale, following each up with a string of popular British curses.

Stormer turned the volume up on the television, annoyed. "You actually plan on playing that thing, or are you just gonna squawk all day?"

"It's not my fault." Jetta put the saxophone back in its case. "This instrument that Eric expensed is rubbish."

Stormer smirked. "Sheila, it's the musician that makes the instrument."

Jetta folded her arms with a scowl. "I'll be sure to remember that, as you play your three-thousand dollar keytar, Mary." And she plopped herself down in the plush chair next to the sofa.

Their attention was then drawn to the quiet creak of the opening door. In walked Roxy, hunched over and shuffling sleepily to the end table where she set down her purse.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up, still wearing last night's clothes, no less," Jetta said with a sneer. "What _have_ you been doing, Roxanne?"

Stormer couldn't resist adding, "I think you mean, _who_ has she been doing, Sheila?"

"Get your heads out of the gutter," Roxy said with her hands on her hips. "I was a good girl; and _he_ was a perfect gentleman."

Stormer straightened. "This is the Army guy you told me about, right?" And she beckoned Roxy over by patting the cushion next to her, saying, "Spill the details."

Jetta parroted the sentiment. "Is he well hung?"

Roxy blushed. "Stop it." She sat on the cushion next to Stormer and removed her shoes. "There's nothing to tell. We danced all night."

Jetta narrowed her eyes. "The clubs close at two. What did you do for the rest of the night?"

Roxy yawned and stretched her arms. "He drove me to the desert, and I handled his pistol."

"You slut!" Jetta gasped. "I knew it!"

"No, silly," Roxy giggled. "For real. He let me shoot his gun."

"So, that's it?" Stormer questioned, with a disappointing pout. "Just dancing and gunfire?"

"No, we also laid in the back of his pickup, looking up at the stars, and just… talked." Roxy smiled, and she sighed thoughtfully.

Jetta smirked. "So, he's gay, then?" It broadened to a lopsided grin. "That, or he has standards."

Roxy laughed. "Jetta's so funny, isn't she, Mary?"

"Er, yeah, I guess…" Stormer shared a worried look with Jetta. "Are you sure everything's all right, Roxy?"

Roxy reclined her head on the cushion. "Yeah, why?"

"No, offense, honey, but you're being uncharacteristically magnanimous toward Jetta."

Roxy stared blankly at Stormer. "What does magnanimous mean?"

Jetta regarded Roxy with suspicion. "It means, are you the real Roxy, or one of those bloody robots?"

Roxy rolled her eyes. "Mary, you have a birthmark that looks like an armadillo just below your bikini line, and Sheila… you _are_ an armadillo."

Stormer and Jetta shared a look; satisfied, they shrugged in abeyance.

"Sorry, Roxy." Jetta said. "I guess I'm a little cross over me sax."

Roxy's eyelids were too heavy to broker a reply. "I gotta to take a shower, but I need to rest first." She laid her head on Stormer's lap.

Stormer smiled as she stroked her bandmate's wavy snow-white hair. "Did you have a good time?"

"Mmhmm..."

"He sounds like a nice guy."

"He's smart… and beautiful... And he's strong... and gentle..." Roxy drifted off, soon followed by the rhythmic breathing brought on by peaceful slumber.

Jetta curled up on her cushion, hugging her knees. "I give it a month."

"Sheila, behave." Stormer turned the volume down on the television.

Jetta grinned. "Oi, 'ow is it that Roxy knows you 'ave a birthmark under your bikini line?"

Stormer's reply was deadpan. "What happens on a deserted tropical island, _stays_ on a deserted tropical island."

"Can I see it?"

In answer Stormer threw her pillow, hitting Jetta square in the face.

A knock on the door prefaced the arrival of the head butler. He entered gracefully, carrying a package addressed to Jetta, which she curiously accepted. She set it on the coffee table.

"What is it?" Stormer questioned, her interest likewise piqued.

Jetta opened the case. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a flawless obsidian colored alto saxophone. "It's a custom Selmer Paris… the same brand as my old sax."

Stormer's brow furrowed in wonder. "Is it from Eric?"

"There's no way Eric spent money on this." Jetta installed her mouthpiece as she regarded the butler. "When did this come in?"

"It was delivered just now at the front gate, Madam Burns," the butler replied stoically.

Jetta left, saxophone in hand, unconcerned with her state of dress. She ran out of the the mansion as quickly as she could, the traction on her slippers permitting, and did not stop until she reached the front gate. She stilled at the iron bars and peered beyond to an empty street.

The guard at the gate approached the raven-haired misfit. "May I help you, Miss Burns."

Jetta frowned. "No thanks." And she started to walk back, but she reversed herself at the last moment to ask, "Er, regarding the delivery man… what color was his hair?"

The guard pursed his lips in thought. "Now that you mention it, oddly enough, his hair was orange."

Jetta snorted.

"Do you know him?"

She smirked. "Not yet…." And she retired to the mansion, playing a beautiful melody on her new saxophone.

* * *

**My Sister Christy**

The intercom on Eric Raymond's desk buzzed.

He pushed the red button. "What is it?"

His secretary's voice sounded over the speaker. _"Mr. Raymond, your sister Christy is here to see you."_

 _Fuck…._ Eric turned off the intercom and sat in his chair quietly, his hands clasped together with his fingers interlaced. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He eventually rose from his chair but took his time walking to the large mahogany double doors at his office entrance. He depressed the clicker and the heavy doors parted.

At their opening, a young woman with black hair, wearing a form-fitting grey business suit, greeted him. "Eric."

"Christy," Eric greeted in kind. He met her at the threshold, and they embraced.

"Brother, darling, it's been ages."

"Oh, how I've missed you, dear sister." He led her into office. He pressed the clicker and the doors closed behind them.

Christy kissed Eric's check, and then she whispered into his ear, "Is this room secure?"

Eric held up a quieting finger and went to his desk. He pushed the button hidden under his lamp and said, "We can speak freely now." He then walked over to the bar. "Care for a drink?"

"I'm on duty," Christy said. "As are you."

"Staying in character _is_ part of my duty, dollface." Eric poured two glasses of brandy. "Besides, it's not everyday I get a visit from 'corporate.'"

"I see that you've been undercover for so long that you've forgotten your place, _Office_ r Raymond."

" _Officer?"_ Eric's brow lifted. "Am I being reactivated?"

"No." Christy folded her arms. "Your failure to gain a stronger foothold in the West Coast music industry has left a stain on your record. As a result, your continued standing as an asset is dubious at best."

"Nice try, but I know a shakedown when I see one. My loyalty to the corporation is above reproach. My non-involvement in the Paris Insurrection is proof of this."

"Only because your battle field prowess leaves much to be desired."

"I excel in a different type of battlefield. Or, do I need to remind you that being part owner of one the largest record labels in the country has secured me a position that puts me in daily personal contact with the son of General Llewellyn." He confidently approached, a glass of brandy in each hand. "And let's also not forget that my continued relationship with Phyllis Gabor was recently leveraged to kick-off an operation that I suspect was _not_ sanctioned by the corporate office?"

"Impressive. I can see why the twins personally hand picked you for this post." She accepted the proffered glass. "We may need your continued assistance in the future for there has been a... complication."

"What complication?"

"G.I. Joe."

"I understand. You will have my full cooperation, of course"—he took a sip—"in exchange for some... assurances?"

"I'm listening."

"Word on the snake-vine is that the company is in the midst of a reorg; I just want to make sure that whoever comes out on top remembers the risks that I'm taking."

"Of course. Not only will you have the stakeholders' appreciation"—she raised her glass—"you will have mine as well."

He smiled as their glasses clinked. "Hail Cobra."

* * *

**Mischief Deferred**

'Christy' exited the main entrance of Stinger's Sound. She casually made note of her surroundings and walked westward for two blocks, after which she surveyed her surroundings again. Satisfied, she regarded her watch and pushed the button all the way in, causing it to beep once. Thirty seconds later a limousine pulled up. She recognized the driver as he got out, and he opened the passenger door for her.

She entered the car and grimaced at the site of the old man sitting across from her. "Yuck, you're even older this time."

The seeming old man was not moved. "What did you find out, _Zarana?"_

"Corporate suspects nothing. This Eric Raymond bloke was smart enough to've kept his mouth shut…. I think we may even be able to turn him as a potential asset."

Zartan smiled. "Excellent."

"As you predicted none of this even made the media."

Zartan shrugged. "Who would believe them?"

"So, do we have any remaining loose ends on our side?"

"Zandar was able to cover our tracks: he destroyed the computers and remotely self destructed the HARPys… all except for one."

Her eyes narrowed. "So, one of those things is still on the loose? Should we worry?"

He scowled. "No… that will be a story for another time."

"Destro's not going to like that."

"Destro can eat a dick."

"Have you spoken with Zandar?"

"He's already back in Louisiana. The Joes left Thrasher, Torch, Monkeywrench and Buzzer unguarded as they stormed our base, so fortunately Zandar was able to double back and free them before the Army arrived."

"What about Ripper?" she questioned. "I thought he was right behind me after the fight."

"He got sloppy and allowed himself to get captured. He's in the infirmary at L.A. Army reserve until they can move him: apparently someone beat him to within an inch of his life," Zartan said. "As far as I'm concerned, he can rot in prison."

She grinned. "Couldn't'a happened to a nicer bloke."

"I take it you're not flying back with me?"

She snorted. "No offence, but I've been wearing granny panties all week… I'm done."

"Thank you for help, sister. I figured you could've used the distraction."

"It was fun, brother."

He moved to her side, sitting next to her. "You are my greatest asset." And he took her hand in his.

"You're sweet." Zartan kissed her hand. "Sorry, you didn't get your new toy. Better luck next time, yeah?"

"It hasn't been a total loss," Zartan said with a shrug. "Do you need us to drop you off anywhere?"

Shaking her head, she said her goodbyes, and she left. The cabin was quiet, until the privacy glass descended.

The driver adjusted his rear view mirror, saying, "That's a classy lady you have there, Guv'nor."

Zartan continued to gaze out of the window. "Stop eye-humping my sister, Zanzibar."

"Right." Zanzibar cleared his throat. "So, when's your flight?"

Zartan finally regarded him. "We're going shopping first. I need some raw materials."

"It's your dime. Where are we heading?"

"Silicon Valley." Zartan pushed the button, and the privacy glass raised. He reached into his jacket and retrieved the _Jemstar Earring._ He regarded the dormant gem at it's center, and he smiled broadly, giving way to maniacal laughter.


End file.
